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AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 



BY BERNIE BABCOCK 

Author of “The Daughter of a ReDubJican,” “The Martyr.” 
“Justice to the Woman,” Etc. 


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CHICAGO 

THE NEW VOICE PRESS 

1902 



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TUTLiBRARV OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Cowes RecewED 

AUG. 14 1902 

COFVRKIHT entry 

Kn/. ICt. ><^0/ 

CLASS ClYXc- No. 

CO^Y B. 


COPYRIGHT BY 
THE NEW VOICE COMPANY 

1901 


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At the Mercy of the State. 


CHAPTER I. 

Less than a score of. years ago, two children 
played in a sunny meadow that stretched itself 
peacefully behind two homes in the quiet village of 
Maple Crossing. 

From the adjoining garden fences the meadow 
sloped gently until it reached a tiny stream that 
wound its way in and out among the grasses, finally 
creeping under the farther fence and disappearing 
beneath a tangle of sumac and cattails. 

To the imagination of the children this meadow, 
ruffled into tiny green billows by the summer breeze, 
was a stretch of boundless prairie; the tiny stream a 
mighty river, and the marshy spot where it lost itself 
underneath the tangle, that undefined region that 
lies on the borderland of all childish imagination — 
the place of mystery, for this spot lay beyond their 
farthest explorations and from its thickets creatures 
innumerable piped and piped in an unknown lan- 
guage, alive, unseen, always mysterious. 

When the first spring rains filled the narrow 
banks of the stream, the children stood hand in 
hand far back from its edge and timidly threw twigs 
into what seemed to them a roaring torrent. 

When the water had settled to a gentle motion 
and purled softly over the tree roots, the children 
sailed boats, wading after them, the boy never be- 
coming so interested in the boat or its cargo as to 


4 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


forget that he was a little older, a little taller, and a 
little stronger than his companion, and that he was 
taking care of her. 

Later, when the stream had crept sluggishly un- 
der the fence, leaving only silent pools and muddy 
spots, the children made tracks in the soft, flat 
places, and here, as before, the boy thought always 
first of his little companion, finding places where the 
mud was softest for her to leave the prints of her 
chubby feet. 

And when the soft mud had baked and lay with 
its parched surface split into myriads of hungry 
cracks, the children left the dry bed of the stream 
and sat under the trees weaving clover chains and 
watching the white clouds that were to them giant 
swans sporting lazily on the far, blue fields of the 
summer sky. 

Thus the children pla^^ed, realizing for a brief 
time the truth that all men are created equal. 

But though the two were ignorant of social castes 
^nd chasms, made and emphasized by morals and by 
money, they themselves belonged each to a family 
representing opposites. 

Deacon Grey, the father of the little girl, was a 
thrifty merchant, owning the one widely patronized 
store in Maple Crossing. He was orthodox and 
patriotic to the core, holding to his creed and his 
political party with fervid devotion. Indeed, so 
well grounded was he both in matters of religion 
and of politics that he had been often referred to by 
irreverent younger persons as “ Deacon Flint and 
Iron.” His three sons were models of youthful ex- 
cellence. His wife knew her place — and kept it. 
His little daughter Nellie was the pet of the Sunday 
school. Flis horses w’ere well fed and tended, and 
his house the best appointed and most neatly kept 
in the village. 

As if by way of contrast, Doctor Russell, the 
father of the boy, lived in the adjoining home. Be- 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


s 


ing commonly known as a drunkard — or so nearly' 
one that the fine distinction was overlooked— he 
was not expected to be either religious or patriotic. 
The days had been when his prospects were good, 
when he drank less and attended more to business, 
when his wife’s white fingers glistened with rings 
which looked well against the ruby wine glass that 
she tipped to his when drinking his health before 
her marriage. But those days had gone, and with 
them the prospects and the rings. These latter 
days the wife earned the bread with a needle, and 
the home, from the front gate hanging sideways to 
the lean horse in the rickety barn, mutely gave evi- 
dence of the condition of affairs that exists when 
the head of a household saps his manhood and 
squanders his money for liquor. 

Even in the early days of the lives of the two 
children, the difference in their appearance and the 
care they received did not pass unnoticed except 
by the children themselves, for while the girl was 
always carefully dressed, the boy wore clothing 
often patched, often too small, and sometimes 
soiled; and while they played in the meadow, many 
times a woman’s voice was heard calling from the 
garden fence, “Nellie, Nellie,” until the child an- 
swered back that she was all right. Sometimes, 
when the children had been gone an unusually long 
time, the other mother left her sewing long enough 
to go to the fence and call “ Horace,” but these 
times were rare. She must work, or the boy would 
have nothing to eat. 

But Nellie never noticed that the boy’s clothing 
was different from hers. She only knew that his 
eyes were large and honest; that his hand was 
larger than hers and kept her many times from fall- 
ing; that he was brave because he was not afraid of 
spiders; that he was kind because he did not rob 
birds’ nests, and that he was always happy. 

And so the days passed, drawing them nearer to 


6 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 



“HEY, PATCHES, where’s YOUR SHOES?” 

that time when childhood’s blissful dream was to be 
rudely broken, and the day of the disillusion was a 
day to which, in their ignorance, the two had looked 
forward with eager anticipation — the first day of 
school. 

For days before the great event Horace had 
talked it over with Nellie, and together they had 
wondered and had planned, and together, when at 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


7 


last the long looked for day had arrived, they 
walked proudly to the school house, he carrying 
her book and slate. 

Scarcely had they entered the school yard, how- 
ever, when his proud young heart was stabbed by 
the rude shouts of half a dozen boys. 

“Hey, Patches, where’s your shoes?” called one 
pointing at his bare feet. 

“Trying to swipe Nellie Grey’s book? Give it 
to her, smart Aleck!” yelled another. 

“ He’s come to school to be a doctor — like his 
dadd>%” a third added. 

“You can’t play with us, Mr. Drunkard’s boy, if 
3^ou do walk with Nellie Grey,” still another cried, 
tauntingly. 

A rush of hot blood flooded the boy’s pale cheeks 
as he paused before his tormentors, but so stunned 
was he by the suddenness of their cruelty, so inno- 
cent of the reason pf what seemed to him sheer 
malice, that he could frame no word of reply. 

But Nellie stepped between him and the other 
bo3^s. 

“You naughty, wicked things!” she said, stamping 
her foot. “I hate you every one — I hate you!” 
and turning to Horace she caught him quickly by 
the hand and led the way to the school room saying 
coaxingly, “ VVe don’t care, do we?” 

But the pleasure that the boy had dreamed of for 
weeks had died when he had expected it to be born. 
In its place was the acute pain that comes to the 
heart of a sensitive child when it must first be taunt- 
ed for a parent’s sin. 

Hurrying from the school house at the close of 
the longest day of his young life, Horace ran home, 
where he crept into the stable loft and, hidden close 
under the low eaves, cried some of his sorrow and 
humiliation away. 

His thoughts were childish and broken, but one 
thing he realized, and that was that the boys knew 


8 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


that his father was not like other fathers and in some 
way blamed him for it, and he had fully determined 
that he would never, so long as he lived, go to 
school again, when he heard Nellie calling him. 

He hesitated In a vague way he felt that he 
had done her an injustice in walking to school with 
her, for he remembered now that her apron had 
been very smooth and white and her shoes shiny. 

Still she called: “Horace! Horace!” stopping 
after each call to listen for an answer. 

Finally, after giving his eyes a last’savage wipe, 
he climbed from the loft and went to the apple tree 
where he knew she was waiting*. 

“Has your father whipped you?” she inquired, 
looking steadily at his red rimmed eyes. 

“No — but Fm not going to school anymore,” 
he said resolutely. 

“Not going to school?” she exclaimed. “I 
thought you wanted to go awful, awful bad!” 

“I do, I do — but — but — ,” and his voice quav- 
ered. 

“ I know,” she said. “ It’s those wicked boys, 
but don’t mind them. They are great big fools or 
they’d have more sense, and I do want you to walk 
with me.” 

“ But they’ll make fun of you, too.” 

“And do I care?” she answered proudly. “ Td 
rather have you like me than all of them put to- 
gether. I don’t want them to like me ” 

“But Nellie — Nellie — ” and his voice trembled; 
“they have found out that my father — that my 
father — ” 

“It is awful to drink whisky,” she interrupted, 
with great emphasis, “and my father prays like sixty 
for the Lord to come down and ‘ destroy ’ all the 
whisky in the country, but you don’t drink whisky, 
Horace! ” 

The boy drew a long sigh. 

“I wish,” he said slowly, “that mv' father could 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


9 


be locked up in some place — not a jail — for a long\ 
long time, some place where he could not get whisky. 
Then he’d stop drinking, ’cause he couldn’t get it,, 
and when he came out he wouldn’t spend his money 
— he wouldn’t be a drunkard.” 

“Shucks,” said Nellie. “What do you want him 
shut up for? You’d better wish »the whisky was 
shut up; but you don’t drink it and you must go to 
school.” 

“ Why must I ?” 

“ Because I’ve got to go and because — because 
I want you to. Please, Horace,” and she lifted her 
eyes to his face for an answer. 

He considered the matter thoughtfully, she mean- 
time watching his face closely. 

Presently she said, with a smile: “You’re going,. 
Horace.” 

“Yes, sir,” he said emphatically. “And do you 
know what for? I’m going to turn those boys down, 
and stand at the head of the class all winter — I am,. 
Nellie, — I’m going to get to the head and stay 
there.” 

“ Of course you are,” she answered with enthus- 
iasm, ‘'‘I’ll let you turn me down tomorrow! ” 

“You needn’t mind ‘letting’ me. I’ll get to the 
top all right! ” and the boy’s dark eves danced with 
pleasure in anticipation of the victory he expected 
to win. 


10 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 


CHAPTER IT 

A PROSPERITY SUPPER. 

That same da}^ that Horace Russel awoke to the 
fact that he was, in the eyes of Maple Crossing’s 
juvenile society, branded in some way because of his 
father’s sin, there was born in his young heart a 
determination to force a recognition of superiority 
from his environment that the same environment 
seemed bent on denying him, and every taunt but 
strengthened this determination. 

His sturdy efforts were rewarded. He did get to 
the head of his class and there he stayed until, after 
repeated interruptions, he was finally taken from 
school and hired out by his father as a chore boy. 

His disappointment at being compelled to leave 
school was keen, but adversity proved a spur to his 
unusual will; Nellie supplied him with cast off books, 
the long hours of the night furnished the time; and 
with his whole soul thrown into the endeavor, he 
struggled to wrest himself from the power of the 
fates that, it seemed to him, had conspired to keep 
him under. 

The years that changed Horace Russel from a 
light-hearted, laughing little boy into a quiet-man- 
nered youth, brought other changes also. Deacon 
drey had become more flinty — more assured of the 
infallibility of his religious creed and political 
theory. The three exemplary sons of this respect- 
able father had left the old home and were in a dis- 
tant city attending college. The gentle mother who 
Tad stood beside the garden fence calling “ Nellie,” 
had gone where her v^oice was heard no more; and 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


II 


Nellie had lengthened her skirts and coiled her haii 
after the manner of a young lady. 

Dr. Russel still drank at intervals and was worth- 
less at all times. Mrs. Russel, pale and patient, still 
toiled with her needle, and the years had left an- 
other child in the dilapidated home, a frail, patient, 
blue-eyed child called Dot. 

Meantime religion and politics still interested 
Maple Crossing inhabitants — especially politics; 
and politicians who had made speeches before the 
last election had repeatedly assured the sturdy farm- 
ers who attended their meetings that, if they would^ 
cast their votes for a certain political party, a great 
era of prosperity would reward them. And now, to 
prove the truth of their statements, the very fields 
and vineyards around Maple Crossing seemed to be 
exerting themselves. This especially pleased Dea- 
con Grey, for he, being an ardent partizan, had used 
his utmost effort to elect a prosperity party, and an 
honest man — particularly a deacon — likes to see 
his statements proved. 

With prosperity on every hand, it seemed that it 
might have showered its blessings where they were 
most sadly needed, but not so. A hundred thousand 
homes were heartlessly passed and one of them was 
the Russel home. As their fare is typical, let us see 
them at their supper on a night when the family 
were all in, but the father. 

When supper was announced, Dot was the first at 
the table, eagerly scanning the scanty food supply 
with her blue eyes. 

“Ain’t we going to have nothing but mush?” she 
said with evident disappointment. “ Tm tired of 
mush!” 

There was no answer to her remarks, and she 
took up her spoon and began to stir the mush in her 
bowl. 

“ Have we got any milk?” she inquired. 


12 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


“ No milk, Dottie,” her mother answered, but 
there s plenty of sugar." 

“Sugar is good, little Dot,*’ Horace* said cheer- 
fully, dusting his mush. 

Dot watched him, and when he had finished, she 
slowly sprinkled her portion .and began to eat, but 
the mouthfuls were slowly swallowed as if a lump 
were in her throat. 

“I believe I’m nearly choked," she said plain- 
tively. “ I don’t like mush! ’ and her voice trembled. 

Her mother placed a cup of water by her plate, 
and, without a word, the child lifted it eagerly to 
her lips; but though she made repeated efforts, the 
mush would not go down, and she presently left the 
table and went to play with her kittens. 

Scarcely had the mush plates been taken from 
the table, when the barking of a dog in the yard an- 
nounced the arrival of the man of the house, who 
presently entered carrying two parcels, one of which 
he handed his wife with an order to fix him some 
supper. 

At first sight of the parcels. Dot let the kitten go. 
With eager eyes she followed the motion of her 
mother’s hands as they unfolded the brown paper 
and brought to light a small cut of steak; and when 
the savory odor of the broiling' meat began to fill 
the close room, the child stood close by the stove 
and inhaled it hungrily. 

When the meat had been cooked, Mrs. Ru'Ssel put 
it on a plate and placed it near Doctor Russel, who 
sat at the table and who took from the remain- 
ing parcel two rolls and two doughnuts, which he 
set by the edge of his plate. 

Dot watched the operation with feverish interest, 
and when the doughnuts came to light she took an 
involuntary step forward, checking her motion sud- 
denly as her father lifted his eyes. 

The man of the house then cut the steak, deliber- 
ately putting a bit into his mouth with a bite of 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 1 3 

bread, chewing with intense satisfaction and swal- 
lowing each mouthful slowly. 

The child stood by with wistful eyes. She watched 
the morsels of meat as they were cut; she followed 
the upward movement of the fork, and before it had 
been lowered to the plate her eyes had already 
dropped and were watching for the delicious sight 
of the prongs stabbing the juicy morsel. Meantime 
she twisted her thin little fingers nervously, making 
motions as if she, too, were grasping a fork handle. 

The eager light in her blue eyes was the light of 
hope, for she expected a little would be left for her. 
But the light paled as, bit by bit, the meat disap- 
peared, until nothing but a little gravy remained, 
and even this her father wiped up with a fragment 
of roll, leaving the plate as clean as when it had 
been put before him. 

After the steak came the doughnuts, and when 
the first of these was taken up Dot again took a 
quick step toward the table, her eyes riveted on the 
food and her fingers working convulsively. 

“What are you staring at?” Doctor Russel ex- 
claimed gruffly, suddenly looking up. 

“ Nothing!” she said, shrinking back. 

“You’ve had your supper, get away from here!” 
he ordered; and with a look of mingled terror and 
disappointment Dot crept in behind the stove where 
the kitten lay. 

Horace had seen it all. Not a motion of the 
child had escaped him, not a glance of her pleading 
eye; and so great was his indignation that it was 
with an effort he kept from springing upon his 
father and wrenching the doughnut from his hand. 
When he saw Dot rise from her corner a few mo- 
ments later and leave the room he followed her. 

Not finding her in the adjoining room he went 
out-of-doors, calling her name softly, as he walked 
slowly toward the apple tree under which she most 
often played. 


14 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


The night air was heavy and stilU and hardly 
had he stepped under the boughs of the tree when* 
he heard some one softly sobbing. 

Turning toward the spot, he found little Dot 
lying in the damp grass, and crying out her sorrow 
into the breast of a heartless earth. 

“ Poor little girl!” he §aid tenderly, lifting her in 
his arms. “ Don’t cry!” and he wiped the tears from 
her cheeks. 

“ But Tm hungry — just as hungry as I can be. I 
think Tm nearly starved!” 

“No, no, not nearly starved. Dot. You saw the 
doughnuts, and you like doughnuts, you know.” 

“Yes, I do!” she exclaimed eagerly. “And I 
bke meat — I love it, and I like bread. If I had just 
a little bit— why don’t we have good things to eat? 
Deacon Grey’s cats have more good things to eat 
than we have. They have milk and scraps of meat. 
I wish they’d give me some of it. One day I was 
going to steal some of their cat’s dinner, but I was 
afraid the cook would see me. Do you think — do 
you think, Horace,” and she lowered her voice — 
“ do you think if I’d ask the cook, real nice, and say 
' Please, ma’am,’ she’d give me some of the cat’s 
scraps to-morrow?” 

“O Dot, for goodness’ sake, don’t do that!” the 
boy exclaimed. “That would be awful. We mustn’t 
beg, if we are disgracefully poor. Deacon Grey 
would feed us, if we asked him, but we will not. 
We will never get hungry enough to beg.” 

“I’m that hungry now,” Dot exclaimed, and 
dropping her head against her brother’s shoulder 
she sobbed pitifully. 

Horace rested his head against hers, and, trust- 
ing to her soft hair to hide his tears, let them drop, 
for though he was in a way accustomed to like oc- 
currences, Dot’s grief wrung his heart. 

For a few moments nothing was heard save the 
child’s sobs, then Horace said in his usual cheerful 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


15 


wa}^: ‘ Listen, Dottie — we are going to have lots o£ 
good things to eat in just a little while. I am learn- 
ing now to be a telegraph operator. In a few weeks 
more I will have work — better work than helping: 
tend horses and doing milking. Then I will have 
money enough every month to get whatever you 
want to eat.” 

“Goody!” exclaimed Dot. “How long will it 
ber” 

“ Not much longer, and if I had not stopped so 
often to pick grapes and do a hundred other things 
it would be now. But we can wait a little longer — 
just a little!” 

“ Of course!” she said. “ Tell me something else 
nice so I won’t think of meat and doughnuts.” 

“ Something still nicer. Some day — some happy 
day, if I keep studying, I will be a doctor, and 
then ” 

Dot gave a sudden jump, exclaiming imploringly,. 
“ O, don’t!” 

“Why, Dottie?” 

“ Because doctors eat up everything,” she an- 
swered quickly. 

In spite of his indignation Horace laughed 

“ Not all of them do, Dottie/’ he said. “ I will 
be a doctor who will divide. I will earn a great 
deal of money, and you shall have a piano like Nel- 
lie’s, and our tired mother shall have a pony and a 
carriage.” 

“How nice! How nice!” the child cried, for a 
moment enthused, but she sighed almost immedi- 
ately, saying, “But it’s so far away.” 

A moment they sat in silence, then the little girl 
lifted her face to her brother’s. 

“ Horace — Horace!” she whispered. 

“What, Dottie?” he asked kindly. 

“ Tm — hungry,” and turning her face to his 
shoulder, she sobbed again. 

Horace held her two nervous hands in his, and 


l6 AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 

told her many stories of the good days that were to 
come, and gradually her sobs hushed. Her head 
sank lower on his shoulder. Her restless hands 
grew quiet. 

Very carefully the brother straightened her in his 
arms so that he might not awaken her to the sorrows 
that a drunkard s child early learns, and slowly he 
carried her to the house. 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 


17 


CHAPTER III. 
love’s young dream. 

While Horace Russel was by a most unusual 
‘Effort procuring for himself, by a slow and overtax- 
ing process, the education his father’s inability kept 
him from acquiring in the ordinary way, Nellie Grey 
was fitting herself for life by easy methods, her 
father and three older brothers vying with one an- 
other in rendering her assistance. 

She had finished the village school with honors 
and had been sent to a distant educational center for 
a three years’ course, two years of which had been 
•completed. 

Nellie's progress gave Horace much pleasure, and 
though their pathways, now that they were grown, 
•seemed to be widely apart, she retained the same 
place in his heart, and always in his visions of the 
•future there was a happy place, somewhere ahead, 
where the diverging pathways would meet again. 

When she arrived home after her first year away 
-at school Nellie went almost at once to the apple 
tree by the division fence that had all their lives 
been the meeting place of the two, and called for 
Horace, who hurried to meet her, happy to find that 
the same gentle, unaffected Nellie who went away 
had returned. 

When she left home a second time Horace sat 
‘Oil the fence and waited until she came to say 
-goodby. 

When she returned at the close of the second 
year, she returned unspoiled and winsome as she had 
gone away, and now that the time had come for her 


1 8 AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 

to go away a third time, Horace sat under the tree 
waiting for a last short visit with her. 

It was evening time, and, as the shadows gath- 
ered, his mind went back to the days when he and 
Nellie had traveled the same paths and the joy of 
living had been in common, unfretted with such 
cares as he had learned must come with life 

So intent was he with his thoughts that he did 
not notice the approach of anyone, until a hand was 
laid lightly on his arm and he recognized Nellie’s 
touch. 

Immediately he dropped to the ground and stood 
beside her. 

“Nellie,” he said, looking down on her, “you are 
shrinking every year. When we stood here last year 
I was only half a head taller than you, now the tip 
of your hair is even with my chin.” 

Nellie laughed. “I was just thinking that you 
must be almost grown,” she said. 

“It’s nice to have you shrink so, Nellie. It makes 
me think of the days when we played in the meadow. 
How I wish we could shrink back — both of us— just 
for a little time to those days. How large the 
meadow was, how mighty the stream, how blue the 
sky, how green the grass, and how much like stars 
the dandelions were. Do you ever think of those 
days? Do you ever wish we could go back, just for 
a day or an hour?” 

“Let’s not talk about the meadow, Horace,” she 
said, softly. “It will make us homesick, and we 
must not feel a bit sad on this last night. Let us 
keep the meadow days in our memory as the sunny, 
fragrant, holy time, lived but once, and then press 
on to other happy days to come.” 

“Then tell me once again of your plans,” he said. 
“You have nearly finished your school days 'now.” 

“You know my plans as well as I. I want to be a 
nurse, but my father will not let me. I want to be a 
doctor, but my father says women have no business 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


19 


meddling with matters which concern men alone, so 
I must be a teacher and teach young males how to 
‘meddle.’ When I get my diploma I will’ attend 
some normal school for a short time and then, I sup- 
pose, settle down to a life of teaching young ideas 
how to shoot.” 

And will you always teach?” he inquired. 

“ That’s too far ahead to decide. But tell me 
now your plans, for I love to hear you talk,, and I 
will be away nine long months.” 

“ Do you think my plans are really worth any- 
thing — I mean do you think I >will carry them out 
as I plan?” 

“ Carry out your plans? Certainly you will. The 
boy who has achieved what you have, against such 
odds as you have contended with, can do anything 
on earth he wills to. You never think of giving up, 
do you?” 

“ No, no, not for a minute — when I think — but 
sometimes I am almost too tired to think. If I had 
not already overcome so many obstacles I might 
‘be tempted to give up, there seem such insurmount- 
able barriers yet in my way.” 

“ Ah, but Horace! ” the girl said with enthusiasm, 
“ Think what you have done! Not a boy in a hun- 
dred — no, not one in a thousand would have grit 
enough to do as you have. You are only two years 
behind me now, and since the day you were twelve, 
when have you gone to school three months at a 
time? When your father stopped you to pick grapes 
I cried because you lost your place at the head of 
the class, and each succeeding time he kept you out, 
for days or weeks, to earn a few dollars, I cried, un- 
til finally he stopped you entirely and hired you out 
to old man- Barnes. My, but I was angry then! 
You were never intended to be anybody’s hired man! 
And here you stand now almost up with me. O, but 
Tm proud of you, Horace! You are a brave boy 


20 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


and there is no environment in the world to keep 
3^ou down ! ” 

“ No, Nellie,” he said quietly; “ there is not, and 
though my efforts at obtaining an education have 
been broken into a thousand fragments, I am get- 
ting along, but it’s all because you help me with 
3^our sympathy and 3^our books.” 

“ Pshaw, Horace! It’s no such thing. You 
would "get along anywa3c I’m onh^ that I can 
help a little in the making of a man — such a man as 
3^ou will some day be ” 

“ You help me more than you know,” he an- 
swered almost reverenth^ “ but I think things will 
be a bit easier after awhile. You seie I’ll soon be 
ready to take station work now. I don’t especiall\^ 
like telegraph}^ but it’s a stepping-stone, 3^011 know. 
JMy first work will be night work, and through the 
lonesome hours I can study — how I can study.” 

“ Go on with 3^our plans,” she suggested after a 
pause. 

Plorace laughed. 

“ You know my plans by heart, Nellie. You 
know that some da3^ some happ\" da3^ I will be a 
surgeon. You know that I expect 1113^ ship to come 
in; you know that I dream of a reputation; you know 
that I am certain I can bring this all to pass. All I 
need is time ” 

“ Certainly you can — and what then?” 

“What then? Ah, then will come again such 
da3^s as we lived in the meadow lot; da3^s indistinct 
yet, but full of the mystery of life; da3^s that must 
be happ3" — that is, if yo.u are with me. When 3^011 
make your plans, Nellie, am I alwa3^s in them, I won- 
der, as 3^ou are in mine? You are always in every 
happy dream I dream.” 

“ I have never pictured any happy future without 
you,” she answered. 

“ I wonder wh3^ 3^011 put me in,” he inquired. 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


21 


“ O, because — because I have always — ” and 
she hesitated. 

“ Don’t say you have always ‘liked’ me ” he in- 
terrupted. “ It pleased me to hear you say that 
when we were children, but now that we are older 
and I am stronger, I want a stronger word. Say an- 
other word, Nellie, something that means infinitely 
more.” 

It was still under the apple tree, the hush broken 
only by a dew drop that slipped from- a leaf to a 
lower bough 

“ Horace,” Nellie said, resting her cheek against 
his shoulder, “ I cannot help it if I love you and 
there can be no harm in saying so, for I do love 
you.” 

“ Say it again, Nellie!” he said quickly. “It is 
sweeter than any song I ever heard you sing.” 

“There is no use of saying it,” she said frankl}^ 
“You know it — you have always known it. I could 
not hide it from you if I tried.” 

“And you love me well enough to wait until I 
have completed this long hard course I am taking — 
until that day when our paths may come together in 
a way that no man nor force of circumstances can 
ever part?” 

“But think how old I’ll be, if I wait so many 
years. A young and dashing surgeon with a repu- 
tation will not want an old maid for a wife.” 

“I’ll never be young, Nellie — never any more, 
and I’ll never be dashing. Besides, years do not 
make age. I am years and years older than you are 
now. By the time I am twenty-five, I will have 
crowded the toil and experience of thirty-five into 
my life, and you will yet be only twenty-four. Can 
you promise to trust me so long?” 

“ Trust you, Horace Russell ” she exclaimed. “ If 
all the world stood on one side and said you would 
not succeed, I would say: ‘You do not know the 



SAY ANOTHER WORD, NELLIE. 




AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 23 

boy,’ and I would trust you. I will promise you — 
but, Horace, have you thought of my father?” 

“What of your father? Will he say ‘No?’” 

“I am sure he will, for he thinks — he fears — ” 

“Yes, yes, I know, he fears I will make such a 
doctor as my father has. What right has he to think 
this of me? What right has the world to hold me 
down, as if I were to blame? Let your father live 
and learn. I have determined to be a man, and I 
will be. I only need your trust and your love!” 

“And you shall have both until my dying day, for 
no force of circumstances can compete with a man s 
will, and you have the will of two.” 

Horace caught her hand eagerly and raised it to 
his lips, holding it long 

“God bless you, Nellie — little Nellie?” he said 
after the short hush. 

A few moments longer they stood together in 
the deep shadows of the low-hanging branches. 

Then she raised her face to his 

“Kiss me good night, Horace, and be good when 
I am gone.” And a moment later Horace stood 
alone. 


24 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


CHAPTER IV. 

ONE OF THE MANY THOUSAND. 

After Nellie’s third visit Horace turned more- 
than ever of his vital force into the steady effort 
required to make his vision of the future a reality. 
The promise she had given him was his constant 
inspiration, and even the work of lighting switch- 
lights and sweeping out the station seemed suddenly 
to have been lifted to an important plane. He 
found that he was able to sit yet a little later, after 
working hours, poring over the books that Nellie 
sent him, and though ever so weary her words of 
confidence spurred him on to more strenuous en- 
deavors. 

Thus busily engaged the weeks passed rapidly 
that changed late summer into fall. 

The fertile fields surrounding Maple Crossing 
had yielded a rich harvest. Barns were being filled 
to bursting and cellars crowded with an abundance 
of winter store. 

But in the home of Doctor Russel no hint of this, 
prosperity came. 

The pale-faced mother still stitched and stitched 
continually, with half numb fingers and an aching 
back, and the same beggarly portions of cheap food 
comprised the daily bills of fare. 

Doctor Russel, drunk and sober by turns, occa- 
sionally got a call to pull a tooth, and at long inter- 
vals some of the poorer class in the river district 
employed him professionally, but none of his family 
ever expected anything from these rare calls. The 
greater portion of his small income went into one of 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 2 ^, 

the many saloons of Adkins, a city twelve miles, 
from Maple Crossing and the nearest point where: 
saloons kept open doors. What part of his scanty 
earnings did not go in that way went to feed the- 
doctor’s horse, which, by its looks, received an infin- 
itesimally small portion. 

About two miles from Maple Crossing the road 
leading to Adkins crosses a narrow stream, on one-, 
side of which the banks rise abruptly, and the road 
at this point, owing to the peculiar geological con- 
struction of the banks of the stream, is called the 
“wash bank” road. , 

Approaching the bridge on one side the road, 
slopes gently, but on the other it winds around the 
side of a steep hill, under the beetling banks that 
keep it shadowy and always slippery with moisture.. 

At this place the greatest care is exercised by 
drivers of vehicles, as a sudden lurch would mean a- 
plunge down the steep hillside. 

As often as Doctor Russel left his home in his- 
two-wheeled cart, known to the villagers as the 
“jumper,” his wife thought of this bend in the road.. 

Summoned to the river district to attend a pov- 
erty-stricken Swede laborer, early one November 
morning. Doctor Russel set out in his rickety vehicle,, 
stopping only to whip back his hound which seemed 
determined to follow him, and which finally did 
track the jumper and disappear with his nose close- 
to the road leading toward the river. 

As it was about time for her husband to make a: 
trip to Adkins and come home intoxicated, Mrs. 
Russel was not surprised that he was not home by' 
supper time, but as he had not appeared when Hor- 
ace came home some time later she was fully per- 
suaded that he had done as she had always been 
sure he would do — driven off the wash bank road at 
the bend. 

Before Horace had finished his frugal supper the- 
whining of a dog outside attracted his attention, and^ 


.26 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 


when he opened the door the hound entered the 
room, still whining. 

At sight of the dog, a strange, wild light that 
Horace always dreaded to see in his mother’s eye, 
suddenly shone. 

“ Horace,” she said, in an unnatural tone, “your 
father has run off the wash bank road. I know it 
just as well as if I saw him. I always knew he 
would.” 

It was in vain that Horace tried to persuade her 
that his father might have been detained by his 
patient’s condition, or that he might be in Adkins, 
too intoxicated to attempt the trip home. 

She insisted that he had driven over the bend, 
and was, perhaps, at that moment lying dead in the 
scraggy growth somewhere down the hillside. 

Horace himself, though assuming indifference to 
his mother’s fears, was not satisfied that all was well, 
and determined to go over to the wash banks and 
learn for himself. 

It was a densely dark night and the wind moaned 
through the leafless trees like the struggling breath- 
ing of some great living thing. 

“ What will you do if you find your father?” his 
mother inquired anxiously, as he lighted a lantern. 
‘“You can do nothing alone.” 

Horace sat down a moment to think. 

“ I will take the dog with me,” he said presently. 
“ If I find father in trouble, I will write a note and 
send it back in the dog’s collar and you can send 
help ” 

“ The dog will not go.” 

Horace smiled. “The dog will do as I wish,” he 
said. “Watch for the dog,” and he started out into 
the black night. 

As Mrs. Russel had supposed, the dog objected 
•seriously to another tramp over the wet, dark road, 
and it was only by means of a rope that Horace suc- 
ceeded in forcing his brute companion to accom- 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 2J 

pany him as he picked his way along by the light of 
the lantern. 

Once out of the village into the open country, 
the darkness became a trifle less dense, but when he 
reached the gorge between the wash banks, it was 
like entering a grave, so si, lent was it, so pitchy 
black, and so heavy with the damp of the sodden 
earth and the decaying leaves that lined the hillside 
and filled the hollows. 

The depressing influence of some uncanny spirit 
seemed to have possession of the spot, and though 
ht had intended, to call at once, Horace hesitated to 
break the stillness, dreading to hear his own voice: 

Crossing the bridge he ascended the opposite 
hill in silence. 

Arriving at the spot nearest the danger point, he 
held his lantern to the ground and looked for wheel 
tracks. 

There they were, plainly cut in the thin layer of 
earth that overspread the roadway, and turning 
directly over the edge of the hill. 

Someone had gone over. Who more likely than 
his father? 

Stepping to the edge of what seemed in the dark- 
ness of the night a fathomless pit, he spoke his 
father’s name, to be answered only by the mocking 
echo of his own voice. 

But after repeated calls, he imagined that he 
heard a groan, coming from somewhere below. 

The way down this ragged hill side was intricate 
in daylight and was doubly dangerous in the inky 
darkness with only the uncertain light of the lantern 
and Horace hesitated. 

But while he stood, a second faint groan reached 
his ear. 

Hastily tying the dog to a tree, he began to de- 
scend, pressing his heels well into the slippery leaves. 
Again and again .he called his father’s name, paus- 


28 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


ing from time to time for an answer that did not 
come. 

After staggering against wet boughs, tumbling; 
over rotten logs and coming in contact with sharp 
stones for some minutes, he paused in the gloom^ 
half-determined to give up the search, when a third 
time the faint groan reached him, this time from 
some point not far away. 

Turning his lantern in all directions and peering 
into the pale light it cast, he finally caught sight of 
an object that seemed to be a human being wedged 
against a fallen tree, and hurrying to the spot he 
found this to be his father. 

After speaking to him many times and receiving 
no answer, he hung his lantern on a bough and be- 
gan to straighten the twisted figure. 

At his first touch the faint groan sounded, but; 
when he laid hands on the man’s legs, attempting to 
straighten them, a wild, unearthly scream sounded. 

“My God!” My God!” the voice rang out in 
agony. “Kill me — kill me — cut my throat — I 
can’t stand it — let me die!” and the shriek ended in 
a long groan. 

As the echo of the fearful cry came quavering 
back on the night air, Horace felt for a moment 
that murder was being committed and that he was- 
the murderer. 

He trembled violently, and a cold perspiration 
broke out upon his forehead. 

“ Father, father!” he said, his teeth chattering 
under the nervous strain. “It’s I — It’s Horace — 
don’t you know me? I’ve come to help you home.”' 

But his questioning was useless. After the out- 
burst nothing escaped the man’s lips but the occa- 
sional groan that had at first sounded, and Horace 
dared not try again to move him. 

Taking the lantern from the tree he placed it on 
the mouldy ground and, crouching over ic, with 
trembling fingers wrote a hurried message to his 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


29 



30 AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 

mother, and climbing to the roadway fastened the 
note to the dog’s collar. 

No words were necessary to send the dog speed- 
ing homeward, and when the last faint echo of his 
rapidly retreating flight had died on the heavy air 
Horace went back into the black valley to watch be- 
side one of the many thousand whose lives go out 
from the deadly influence of drink. 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 


3 ^^ 


CHAPTER V. 

THE BORDERLAND OF HAPPINESS. 

For a few days after his fall over the Wash Bank 
Doctor Russel lay in the County Hospital, his wants 
attended by the public. 

His wife asked permission to be with him, for 
she had been assured that he could not recover from 
his frightful fall; but her request was denied, the 
authorities consoling her with the promise that she 
should be sent for when the end came. 

While the family waited in the home out of 
which the father had gone, never to return, an air of 
heavy suspense seemed to have settled over the- 
hearts of Horace and his mother, keeping them both 
unusually silent; but Dot seemed to have come into 
sudden possession of a fund of good feeling. She 
talked to her mother and brother incessantly, and 
finding them too much preoccupied with thoughts 
of their own to pay any attention to her opinions,, 
she turned her attention to the kitten, asking many 
questions which she answered to suit herself, and 
always on the supposition that her father would 
never return. 

But to Horace the thought that his father might 
not return presented at this time no comforting 
thought. 

It is true that since his early childhood his fa- 
ther’s practice of drinking had been a continual 
mortification to him, but he had borne the taunts of 
other boys bravely, feeling that in a way his trouble 
was none of their business so long as he asked noth- 
ing of them. 


32 AT THT MERCY OF THE STATE. 

Now, however, his private trouble had been in- 
'Creased by the added humiliation of dependence. 

-His father was d^^ing alone and friendless, cared 
dor by the public, and none knew better than Horace 
•that the public would also bury him. 

The very thought of this brought to fresh life the 
pain that had cut his heart on the morning, years 
before, when he had gone to. school with Nellie. 
The knowledge that he could not buy a piece of 
•g-round in the Maple Crossing Cemetery, that he 
could not pay a man to dig a grave, that he could 
not pay for a coffin, that he could not buy a last 
decent suit of clothes for his father, that his 
mother must stand beside an open grave with- 
'Out the customary black veil to hide her face 
from the rude stares of those about, made him so 
utterly miserable that he was almost unable to at- 
tend his work, and yet on this work, menial though 
it was, depended in a measure his future. 

When word was brought to the wife and children 
of Doctor Russel that they might come to him, it 
was not until the last breath had left his pain-racked 
body, and the three were advised to hurry if they 
wished to be present at the burial. 

Deacon Grey kindly lent Horace his carrv-all, 
and with his pride humbled to the dust, the boy 
drove his mother and little sister to the County 
Hospital in the suburbs of Adkins. 

The interment was hastily accomplished, the 
grave rapidly filled and rounded up, and the bunch 
of golden rod that Mrs. Russel had stopped in the 
woods along the way to gather was placed on the 
bare mound. Then the widow and the two children 
turned their faces toward home again. 

As they rounded the bend where the fatal plunge 
had been taken, Horace led the horse slowly while 
his mother gazed silently down the shaded steep. 

Far down in a thicket some bits of broken vehicle 
told where the old “jumper” had been wrecked, but 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 


33 


the log against which the man had been thrown was 
not visible, and Horace did not point it out nor did 
Mrs. Russel ask any questions. 

With her eyes fixed on the farthest limits of the 
passing woods and fields, her mind wandered to the 
remote past, the expression on her face changing 
slightly from time to time as marked by degrees of 
sadness. 

But if Mrs. Russel was unusually quiet Dot was 
unusually talkative. 

“Why don’t mother talk?” she questioned of 
her brother. 

“ People do not feel like talking when they have 
been to a funeral.” 

“I do,” she replied emphatically. 

“You have no father now, Dottie,” Horace an- 
swered gravely. 

“I’m glad of it,” she said. “I wouldn’t give a 
cent for a bushel of fathers. I haven’t had a bit 
good time for years and years, and I never had half 
enough to eat, I 11 get his share now, won’t I? ” and 
she brought her lips together with evident pleasure. 

Horace looked grave for a few seconds, then he 
laughed. It was the first time he had laughed since 
the night on the wash bank, and it lifted a load 
from his mind. 

“You are a heathen, Dottie,” he exclaimed. 
“ Every girl needs a father.” 

“What for?” she inquired with interest. 

“ What do girls need a father for.? Why, to take 
care of them.” 

“Well, then you can be my father. I’d like one 
like you. You don’t look at me with your great big 
eyes as if you meant to bite me, and you wouldn’t 
eat up everything when I’m starving for a bite — 
would you, Horace?” 

Attracted by the child’s questioning Mrs. Rus- 
sel’s eyes lost their far-away expression, and she as- 
sumed an interest in the conversation. 


34 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 


“Yes, Dottie,” she answered, “Horace is the 
man of the house now. We are beginning afresh. 
Let us not talk of the past any more. Let us forget. 
I can work yet a little longer, and when I am ready 
to stop Horace will be able to take my place.'’ 

“How I wish it might be to-morrow!” he ex- 
claimed. “ But it will be soon I am sure. The 
night man at Trentwood was fired last week for get- 
ting drunk and letting a train pass, and an extra has 
been there since. Some lev^el-headed fellow will 
get a good place there — how I wish I might be the 
man. Forty dollars a month! Can you imagine it, 
Dottie?” 

“What will it buy?” she questioned gravely. 

“ More of everything nice than we have ever 
had. Steak and milk, cake and chicken Sundays 
and paint and boards to fix the house.” 

“ I don’t care for paint and boards,” she said, 
elevating her nose. “You can’t eat paint and 
boards. I want gravy and doughnuts.” 

“ All right, gravy and doughnuts you shall have 
every day, and oui" mother shall never sew another 
shirt or pair of overalls.” 

Mrs. Russel looked lovingly into the enthusiastic 
face of her son, and her eyes filled with tears. 

“You are a generous-hearted, brave boy,” she 
said, “ and you will yet bring joy and happiness into 
my life — I am sure of it. But, Horace,” she said, 
her lips trembling, “ make me one promise. Promise 
me that you will take your father’s example as a 
solemn warning. Promise me that you will never 
drink! Sometimes I feel that your father’s blood is- 
upon my hands, for once, long ago, I drank with 
him. I laughed at those who had never tasted wine 
and were afraid to sip champagne. And yet I am 
not all to blame, for years since I put wine forever 
from my house and begged your father not to touch 
it. He promised, and together we signed the pledge, 
and we came to Maple Crossing to get a fresh start. 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


35 


For months he kept his pledge, tor months we 
seemed to have started once again on the road to 
happiness, but it all came to an end the first time he 
went to Adkins, for there he found saloons on every 
corner. How different it had been if he had not 
found the open saloon. But all that is past now — 
only you are left. Promise me, Horace!” 

“I have fully determined, mother, that I will 
never drink.” 

“ That is good — so good — but, Horace ” 

“What, mother?” 

“ Many men have determined.^’ 

“Have you forgotten my will?” he inquired al- 
most proudly. 

“ No, no; your will power is the marvel of my 
life, but, Horace, your father once had such a will. 

Whisky and she leaned near him and whispered 

hoarsely, “whisky saps the will — it burns it out — it 
drowns it — it stifles it — it smothers it. Whisky digs 
the grave of a man’s will, strangles the victim, 
throws him in and tramps over the grave of a lost 
hope with fiendish glee. Whisky ” 

Horace drew his hand gently across his mother’s 
arm, and his motion seemed to calm her, for she 
had grown excited. 

“ I give you my solemn promise, mother, and I 
wish I could repeat it for you pleasure a thousand 
times: I will never be a drunkard. A surgeon must 
have a clear brain and the steadiest nerve on earth, 
and a surgeon I will be though the heavens fall. 
Do not be afraid. What I will to do I do. What I 
have determined to leave undone must, so far as I 
am concerned, forever remain undone. The worst 
is past. Smooth sailing will soon be here now.” 

Hardly had the Russels entered the. house on 
their return, when the aged station agent of Maple 
Crossing came, bringing Horace a telegraphic mes- 
sage. 

With trembling fingers the boy opened it and 


36 AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 

read the magic words: “ Report at Trentwood to- 
night for duty.” 

Then for the first time he forgot that he had just 
come from his father’s funeral; he forgot that as 
man of the house he should possess dignity, and 
with a shout of joy he threw his arms around his 
mother’s waist and danced her around the room 
until her hair pins fell from her hair and she laughed 
with joy. 

“ We have reached the borderland of happiness!” 
he exclaimed; and the tears that shone in her eyes 
was her only answer to his speech. 


37 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE, 


CHAPTER VI. 

A PARTNERSHIP BOY TRAP. 

The great commonwealth of which Maple Cross- 
ing is an insignificant portion is one of the proudest 
and most progressive in the sisterhood of states and 
is patriotic to the core. 

The national emblem of liberty and justice floats 
over her turrets and spires, and the time honored 
truth about “ life, liberty and the pursuit of happi- 
ness ” is unfailingly proclaimed on all patriotic 
occasions. 

But while the state is thus declaring the immut- 
able rights of her citizens and seemingly contending 
for the welfare of the weak and the protection of 
all in their pursuit of happiness, she is at the same 
time as incessantly making agreements with that 
curse of civilization which causes more disaster to 
the human race than war, famine and pestilence, 
whereby the curse may devastate and destroy and 
damn, to the utmost limit of its power; and even 
while the Russels were rejoicing because they had 
reached the borderline of happiness, the state was 
entering into such an agreement with a representa- 
tive of the curse known as Jacob Crane. 

Jacob Crane, the party of the first part, with the 
consent and protection of the state, the party of the 
second part, was preparing a trap to be set directly 
across the street from the station in Trentwood, 
where Horace Russel was to be employed as night 
man. 

The agreement entered into by the curse and 
the state was a cold-blooded, business transaction, 


38 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


the state selling the right to the curse to set and bait 
and tend the trap known as the saloon, and making 
provisions to care for such victims as should be 
maimed or crazed or killed in this same trap. 

Having purchased from the state the right to 
operate the trap, Jacob Crane obtained, also from 
the state, a certificate calculated to protect him in 
his vocation of debauching manhood, and was ready 
for business. 

When the citizens of Trentwood first heard that 
Jacob Crane intended to start a saloon in their town 
a wave of indignation swept the place, and a meet- 
ing was held at which some resolutions were adopted. 

But Jacob Crane, having served several years as 
bartender in a swell saloon in Adkins, a city that 
makes resolutions of exceedingly war-like propor- 
tions the year around, was not seriously alarmed at 
the outbreak of resolutions in Trentwood. He knew 
when he turned his greedy eye on the little town 
that its citizens wanted electric lights and a water 
plant. He knew how big the license fee would seem 
to the city fathers. He knew, as well before as after 
the grand stand flurry made by preachers and pious 
laymen, that they would sooner see a saloon in Trent- 
wood than an opposing political party in power, and 
he rightly gauged their patrio.tism. 

The place he had chosen to operate his trap had 
been selected with an eye single to business, for it 
was on a corner where four roads crossed, and, as if 
it had been selected with especial reference to rail- 
road employes, it was most conveniently near the 
railroad station. 

For a time after Jacob Crane began to prepare 
his trap feeling ran high in Trentwood, but when the 
business men saw how bright and fresh the corner 
appeared after it had been artistically decorated and 
fitted up they were inclined to believe that after all 
the evils of a single saloon might have been exag- 
gerated 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 39 

Jacob Crane had studied his business well. Boys 
and men being his especial, prey he laid his snares 
accordingly. A piano was put into the bar room 
and a musician of Trentwood hired to play popular 
airs, and, as if this were not enough, the wily mana- 
ger of “Crane’s Place” sent to his old haunt in 
Adkins once in a while and had a couple of young 
women come to Trentwood to sing a bit and do 
some fancy dancing. This latter attraction proved 
a drawing card, though Jacob Crane was careful not 
to have any announcement of the visits of these 
women published in the Trentwood Times. 

When the saloon had been completed Jacob Crane 
gave a housewarming, at which free beer was served 
and to which every man in Trentwood was cordially 
invited. 

The ladies from Adkins were not present on this 
occasion, but the piano furnished gay music, beer 
flowed freely and the affair was voted by all present 
a big success. 

The opening of this trap managed by Crane and 
allowed by the state took place after Horace Russel 
had been working five weeks in Trentwood. 

When the young operator had received his first 
month’s pay he took it to his mother just as it had 
been handed him from the pay car, and great was 
the rejoicing in the barren home. The mother fin- 
gered the crisp, green bills lovingly, and later, with a 
basket on his arm and Dot’s little hand in his, Hor- 
ace went to the store and bought such an array of 
good things as had not been seen in the Russel 
home in the recollection of the child. The evening 
meal was like a banquet. 

Dot was almost overcome by the amount of steak 
and doughnuts given out as her share, and began 
dividing it in portions, setting one aside for the next 
day and one the day after, until assured by Plorace 
that there was no need to put any away. 

When finally impressed that she might eat as 


40 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


much as she would, she was almost wild with joy 
and partook of such a meal as she had not dreamed 
of in her happiest visions. 

To Horace his position in the world seemed sud- 
denly changed. He was now independent. He 
was called one of the best of the young operators, 
and his chances of promotion were good. But this 
promotion, when it should come, would only be a 
higher stepping stone. 

But the long months of extra exertion had at 
length begun to tell upon him. Often he found 
himself so restless and nervous that it became neces- 
sary to walk the platform in the night air. 

When he first heard that a saloon was to be 
opened right across the corner from the station by a 
man from Adkins, he was indignant, for with his 
whole soul he hated the very name of Adkins. 

But having heard much of the place during the 
weeks while it was being decorated and fitted up, he 
determined to see for himself what an up-to-date 
saloon was like. 

There was in the office with him a student who 
often stayed evenings for practice, and, leaving him 
in charge for a few minutes the evening of the open- 
ing, Horace crossed the street to “Crane’s Place.” 

The piano was rattling merrily; laughter sounded, 
and even on the outside air the scent of liquor hung. 

This scent Horace drew in, in long satisfied 
draughts and the effect was pleasant. 

Inside he met several boy acquaintances and a 
number of men whom he knew. One of these men 
was the day operator, who slapped him familiarly 
on the shoulder and asked him to drink to the new 
enterprise in a glass of fresh beer. With hand still 
pressing on the boy’s shoulder, the man pushed him 
toward the bar. 

Horace Russel had never tasted beer, but he was 
not afraid of a drink popularly supposed to be so 
harmless, and a second glass soon followed the first. 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 4I, 

This visit was followed by another and yet an- 
other, at intervals of several days, and each time the 
foolishly, confident young man drank beer, and each 
time his relish of the drink was keener. 

He would not have admitted this fact even to 
himself and would have scorned the idea that he 
was “drinking;’’ but, alas, he was a boy, a stranger 
in the town, and the saloon the only place where he 
was sure of a social welcome. 

Then, 'one night, his friend, the day operator 
suggested a glass of “something stronger.” 

This time Horace hesitated. 

It had been that “something stronger” that had 
cursed his life. 

Still he felt that he was strong, and the certainty 
that he would never be a drunkard almost caused 
him to smile at his own fears. Besides, the day op- 
erator was one of the best men on the road, had 
never been known to be intoxicated, had shown 
Horace many favors, and the young operator did 
not want to -seem strange or discourteous, so he took 
the proffered glass and drained it. 

As it poured down his throat it burned in pass- 
ing, but the effect was almost instantaneous To 
the very outmost fiber of his finger tips the liquid 
seemed to bound, giving him such a sense of exhil- 
aration as he had never known, and he felt that 
some unknown craving had for the first time in his 
life been satisfied. 

Almost immediately he called for a second glass,, 
and under the effects of this his spirits rose, until 
when a fresh song was started he joined merrily in 
the chorus, beating rapid time with his feet. 

But scarcely had he begun when some one took 
him roughly by the arm, exclaiming wrathfully,. 
“You fool!” and Horace recognized the voice of the 
day operator. 

“You cursed fool! Don’t you know you’re on. 
duty? What sort of a kid are you that you cannot 


42 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 


‘drink a cocktail and keep your head?” his friend 
-cursed in his ear, meantime leading him hurriedly 
from the fume-laden room, back across the street. 

On the station platform the older man tried by a 
free use of strong language to impress upon the 
youth that his “job” would not last a day if the 
company learned that he had been drunk. 

Somewhat sobered by the cool air and vigorous 
remarks of his friend, Horace hurried to the office 
with unsteady step and set to work to counteract 
the effects of the liquor by bathing his head many 
times in cold water and pacing the long platform in 
the fresh air. 

Still it was almost more than he could do to keep 
from falling asleep at his post of duty, and the last 
new book that Nellie had sent him remained for 
that night unopened on his desk. 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


43 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE PREY OF THE STATE’S TRAP 

When the first effects of his visit to Crane’s had 
worn away and Horace Russel found himself in 
possession of his senses, he shuddered to think 
what might have happened had not the friendly day 
operator forced him away from the saloon, and in a 
vague way he seemed by the act of that night to 
Rave stepped under the shadow of the power that 
Jay behind the saloons of Adkins. But the walk 
from the station in Maple Crossing to his home and 

warm welcome from his mother dispelled his 
vague uneasiness, and after a hurried breakfast he 
went to his room to sleep himself back to his normal 
condition. 

After his first visit to Crane’s place, Horace de- 
termined that a second risk should not be encoun- 
tered, and for a few weeks he bent all his energies 
on his studies and employment, making long strides 
toward the happy future that seemed certainly, 
though slowly, drawing nearer. 

But after a few weeks of close attention to his 
business, he was attracted one evening by sounds of 
unusual merriment across the way. Brilliant lights 
streamed over the mirrored screens which were 
continually swinging in and out, as boys and men 
entered the place, and above the din of voices the 
music of the piano rose and fell as the performer 
executed a popular air in furious time. 

For a while the boy withstood the temptation to 
see what was going on, and might have succeeded 
bad not a boyfriend happened along and urged him 


44 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


to go over “ for ten minutes ” and see the show^ 
Unfortunately the student was in the office, and: 
Horace listened to his friend’s persuasion, promising 
himself that he would under no circumstances touch 
a drop of liquor. 

As he and his friend passed between the swing- 
ing screens, the attraction immediately presented 
itself; surrounded by a circle of admiring men and 
boys, two women scantily attired were executing a 
rather irregular dance. 

Horace, who had never before witnessed such a 
performance, was at first too greatly surprised to 
enter into the spirit of the occasion, but the fumes^ 
of running liquor hung heavy on the air, and almost 
before he was aware of his action he had turned to 
the bar and called for a drink of the liquor that had 
affected him so pleasantly on his former visit. 

As before the liquor burned its way down his 
tender throat, immediately afterward setting his 
whole nervous anatomy in an intoxicated whirl. 

After the first glass a second followed, and, there 
being no. friendly hand to draw him away this time, 
a third glass followed the second. 

By the time Horace had released the third glass 
from his hand he was wildly happy with the effects 
of the liquor, and when the women began a second 
dance he, with a number of Trentwood boys, joined 
in the motion, growing more and more hilarious un- 
til Jacob Crane found it necessary to interfere, call- 
ing the attention of Horace to the fact that he had 
better go across the street and attend to his busi- 
ness. 

The boy was almost too much intoxicated to un- 
derstand, but on being repeatedly ordered out of the 
place, he staggered across the street. 

With a dim experience of relief, he found on 
reaching the office that the student was still on duty,, 
and, dropping across a table, he slept heavily until: 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 45 

the first grey streaks of morning tinged the sky, 
when the student awoke him. 

“ Time to get up?’’ he, inquired, stupidly opening 
his eyes. Then seeing the student he straightened 
up. 

“You’d better brace up,” the boy remarked 
crossly. “The day man will be here in another 
hour, and away goes your position when the chief 
hears of this.” 

These words were all that was necessary. 

Horace sprang up, and with trembling hands 
dashed cold water into his feverish face, and walked 
up and down the platform in the crisp morning air. 
Just before broad daylight he was able to take his 
place at the desk, though his hands trembled so he 
could not have sent a message, and the roaring in 
his head made it impossible for him to distinguish 
one call from another. 

“ Don’t give me away this time,” he pleaded as 
the student prepared to go home. 

“ I’m not that kind,” the student assured him. 
“ But, Russel, you’re a fool!” 

“ I know it,” Horace answered wearily, “ but this 
is the last time!” and by the ring of decision in his 
voice and the firm pressure of his thin lips the stu- 
dent, as well as the young operator, considered the 
matter finally settled. 

But the deadly, insidious power of the liquor sold 
by the partnership concern of the state and Jacob 
Crane was already sapping the boy’s energy, and a 
third fall was easier than the second. 

^ ^ ^ 

While Horace Russel was playing fast and loose 
with his position as a result of the influence of 
“Crane’s Place,” the pious members of the old 
square church in Maple Crossing were having trou- 
ble of a more respectable nature. 

Several months had elapsed since this church had 


46 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


had a regular pastor, and sermons during the interval 
had been few and far between and delivered mostly 
by students from a theological school in Adkins. 

After several weeks without even a student it 
was announced by Deacon Grey that a minister 
would preach the following Sunday, and would be, if 
the sermon suited, called to the pastorate of Maple 
Crossing. 

The news spread rapidly, and by the Friday pre- 
ceding the eventful Sunday everybody within a ra- 
dius of three miles was in readiness to attend. 

The new minister arrived Saturday afternoon. 
He was entertained at the house of Deacon Grey^ 
who told him much of Maple Crossing history, in- 
cluding that of his neighbors, the Russels. In this 
connection he spoke of the indignity heaped on the 
citizens of Trentwood by the satanic Jacob Crane in 
the opening of his saloon. 

The young minister, the Rev. William Bruce, had 
received a call once before to a probable pastorate, 
and had preached a burning sermon against the 
legalized saloon in such a way as to forever quench 
his hope of being established in the pastorate of that 
church — so he had been informed — and on this occa- 
sion he had tried to be wiser, and had prepared for 
his trial sermon a scholarly essay on “Abraham’s 
Faith.” This he was looking over for the last time,, 
just before retiring Saturday night, when from a dis- 
tance a succession of sharp cries reached his ear. 

Stepping toward the window he listened. 

Again they came, nearer and sharper, cutting the 
air like a knife, this time blended with the rapid echoes 
of flying horse hoofs. 

Pushing the curtain aside William Bruce leaned 
oyer the casement, peering down the moonlit road,, 
and almost immediately there dashed into view a 
vehicle in which were seated two boys, one of whom 
leaned forward lashing the horse fearfully, while 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


47 



‘ A WOMAN STOOD AT THE GATE OF THE MISERABLE COTTAGE. 


4^ at the mercy oe the state. 

with every blow the other youth emitted terrific 
screams. 

Like a flash of darkness the vehicle passed, and 
as it did so another cry sounded on the stillness of 
the night. 

It was a woman’s voice, and she cried in a voice 
tuned to the unspeakable sorrow of a broken heart: 
“Horace! Horace!” Turning to the place from 
which the call had proceeded the minister noticed 
that a woman stood at the gate of the miserable cot- 
tage next door, and that, as the vehicle passed with- 
out heeding her cry, she placed her hands over her* 
ears as if to shut out the sound of the reiterated; 
screams that came quivering back on the night air. 

William Bruce stood for a moment at the open 
window as the tragedy sank its effects into his soul. 

The screams had grown still in the distance. 
The long silent street lay peacefully in the moon- 
light, but the minister knew that the peace was only 
a surface expression. The saloon that had cursed 
Adkins had reached even to this quiet place, and 
under the calm of nature, hearts were breaking, 
homes were wrecking, men were rushing to hell. 

Turning back to the table at which he had been 
sitting, he dropped his carefully prepared essay. 

“Lie there, Abraham,” he said, “and God forbid 
that I hold my tongue. Maple Crossing must hear 
the message, even though I never get a pastorate — 
so help me God.” He dropped upon his knees and 
his soul reached out for help to the God of eternal 
justice. 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


49 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A SERMON EXTRAORDINARY 

At the Sunday morning service, when William 
Bruce preached his trial sermon, the church was 
filled, everybody hoping that the new minister would 
preach such a sermon as would win the hearts of the 
church deacons, especially the flinty heart of Dea- 
con Grey. 

The young clergyman’s appearance was the oc- 
casion for many a critical glance, and the congrega- 
tion waited with an air of expectancy to hear what 
manner of voice he possessed. His appearance was 
satisfactory, and his voice as he read the opening 
hymn was pleasant, even musical. These important 
matters being settled, the pious people of Maple 
Crossing settled themselves with their ears open for 
the real test. 

“Brethren and Sisters of Maple Crossing,” the 
young minister said before reading his text, “as I 
walked, last evening, from the station to the hospit- 
able home where I am being entertained, my_ eye 
drank in with pleasure the calm beauty of your 
peaceful little town, and its quietude and hush were 
like balm to one who has lived in the jangle and dis- 
cord of city life. Surrounded by your fertile fields 
that stretch away, seemingly boundless, and shut in 
by your stately trees, you seem to be remote from 
many dangers that beset our modern civilized life — 
especially that greatest- curse, the legalized liquor 
trafific. 

“Enjoying the calm and peace of your village, as 
a man enjoys the sweet things of a dream, my dream 


50 AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE, 

was suddenly broken last midnight as the still air of 
Maple Crossing was pierced by the screams of a 
maniac, such a maniac as the state by its active 
partner, the saloon, is engaged in making. As the 
screams quivered and throbbed on the air, I knew 
that indeed the curse had reached its octopus arms 
•even into the midst of your calm, and when I heard 
3 . mother’s voice calling in agony to a boy that is 
^oing his swift way to destruction, as surely as he 
passed her, I was keenly awake to the fact that no 
place, however sheltered, however humble, however 
holy, escapes the pitiless, soundless, hellish greed of 
the curse that buys from the state the right to blight 
^nd blast, to debauch and damn the defenseless ones 
whom the state should protect. 

“Because I have found the curse to have fastened 
its deadly fangs even in your fair little town, because 
J have learned that the sons of your fathers are tra- 
A^eling the road to perdition, because I have learned 
that the hearts of your mothers are bleeding and 
breaking and being trampled in the dust, I am going 
to talk to you to-day from this scripture.” 

A death-like silence prevailed, and lifting his 
Bible the preacher read: 

“For among my people are found wicked men; 
they lay wait as he that setteth snares; they set a 
trap, they catch men. They are waxen fat, they 
shine; yea, they overpass the deeds of the wicked. 
They judge not the cause of the fatherless, yet they 
prosper and the right of the needy they do not 
judge. Shall not I visit for these things? saith the 
Tord. Shall not my soul be avenged on such a na- 
tion as this? A wonderful and a horrible thing is 
committed in the land. The prophets prophesy 
falsely and the priests bear rule by their means, and 
my people love to have it so.; and what will ye do in 
the end thereof?” 

“ The words of my text,” said the young 
preacher, “ are these: ‘A wonderful and a horrible 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 5 1 

thing is committed in the land .... and what will 
ye do in the end thereof?”’ 

As the minister placed his Bible on the desk, an 
audible breath escaped the lips of the congregation 
and they leaned forward to hear a new sermon from 
a new text. I 

“We have for so many years heard such varied 
and terrible things of the legalized liquor traffic,” 
he began slowly, “that our brains have grown stupid 
with the repetition, and the horrors of the frightful 
conditions brought about by it, under sanction of 
the law, fail to arouse in us that fierce wrath that 
once thoroughly aroused means the death of the 
whole hellish business. Let us for a few moments 
try to grasp the horror of this monster iniquity of 
the age. 

“There is in a certain great industrial center a 
covered passageway that leads from the fresh air of 
a world teeming with life to the well ordered cham- 
bers of a certain and foreordained death. Over this 
covered wooden bridge, from early morning until 
the sun drops behind the roofs and smoke stacks in 
the west, the clatter of feet sounds, as by the hun- 
dred and the thousand creatures are driven to their 
doom; and from the death chamber the shrieks of 
these animals blend in one prolonged death wail, 
from morning until evening, as they are swung onto 
the wheel that turns them swiftly into the hands' of 
the master slaughterer who plunges his two-edged 
knife deep into each throbbing, gasping throat that 
comes within his reach. 

“ In that place blood is on every side, on every 
hand, under every foot, staining every board and 
dripping from every knife. Blood and screams and 
struggles — and stiff death. 

“ But these are only animals. Let us picture 
another sight. Let us put boys where we have seen 
swine stand — boys with bright eyes, pure hearts, 
fond hopes, immortal souls. 


52 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 



AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 53 

“There is another bridge — unseen but real, and 
built of days and months and years, braced with 
opportunities, girt with hopes and breathed upon by 
mothers' prayers. This is the bridge of life and 
over it the boys of a nation are making their way. 
Need I tell you that these boys — by the thousand, 
from morning until sunset and even through the 
night, are leaving the open fields of purity and the 
fresh air of hope and traveling their certain way to 
the pauper’s grave and the drunkard’s hell, and that 
the two-edged knife that stabs this vast array of 
manhood, that pierces the heart and bleeds the soul, 
is held in the hands of a legalized traffic, and that 
the master slaughterer of the age, the saloon, holds 
and wields its weapon by consent of the sovereign 
states? 

“ Every fifteen minutes, from sunset until sunrise, 
a murder is committed in our land, and half of this 
number are easily due to the legalized liquor traffic. 
Every ten minutes that I stand before you the legal- 
ized saloon robs some man or child or woman of his 
immortal soul and sinks him deep into the abyss of 
everlasting woe. 

“ Is it horrible? 

“ Horrible with such black horror that no pen or 
tongue can write its horror or describe its pangs! 

“ Let us see if it is wonderful. 

“The state, the sovereign state, proud, mighty, 
invincible, declares herself the protector of the de- 
fenseless ones, — the mothers, the infants. But the 
state, the sovereign state, sells the right to that mas- 
ter slaughterer, the saloon, to wield his two-edged 
knife of sure destruction. For a stipulated sum she 
gives this arch foe of the human race the right to 
wreck and ruin, to coax the endless procession of 
boys over the bridge into his deadly places, there to 
deal them certain death. The state, that should 
protect the weak, sells to the strong the legal right 
to deal out death, and flings her citizens, to fight or 


54 at the mercy of the state. 

die, into the teeth of a traffic with a heart of iron 
and with fangs of brass. Is it not wonderful to see 
the state in partnership with this breeder of vice, 
this debaucher of purity, this father of poverty, this 
mother of lust, this certain ally of damnation? 

“ I say to you to-day that the mothers of ; a nation 
are at the mercy of the state that as yet seems not 
to know what mercy is. The manhood of the nation 
is at the mercy of the state. The happiness of your 
daughters is at the mercy of the state. The welfare 
of your sons is at the mercy of the state. The des- 
tiny of your unborn children is at the mercy 
the state. The boy who screamed and raved 
upon your streets last night is at the mercy of 
the state. His broken-hearted mother is at the 
mercy of the state — and you, men of Maple Cross- 
ing, go to make the state. 

“ The butcher of our modern civilization procured 
the right to use his deadly weapon from the state. 
It is your place and mine to wrench this weapon 
from his hand. It is your place and mine to meet 
this deadliest enemy of the home, the church and 
the human soul, at the ballot box, for there only can 
we wound him. 

“And what will be the end thereof? 

“The end of sin is death. Individual sin brings 
individual death. National sin ends in national 
death. The saloon is the great social anarchist of 
the age. It defies every law. It laughs at every 
prayer. It is the main source of corruption in poli- 
tics, and by so much as it corrupts politics it domi- 
nates there. If it shall be allowed to walk rough- 
shod over opinion and defy every law it chooses to 
defy, the spirit of anarchy it begets will grow and 
flourish, until human life will scarce be worth the 
counting. Men in high places will be struck down 
like dogs, and public institutions will be but tools 
used by the traffic to manufacture spoils. 

“The time will come when from under every 


ss 


AT THE TVIERCY OF THE STATE. 

stone on every highway, when from under every 
clod on every byway the voice of a brother’s blood 
will call to Almighty God for vengeance, until He 
will in justice wipe out the nation that mocks Him 
by its abominations. The time will come when 
every passing breeze that blows will be heavy laden 
with the increasing wails of cursed men and broken- 
hearted women — when every passing summer breath 
will be burdened by the voices of men dead and 
damned. The time will come when the nation that 
sows the wind of unrighteousness, will in the end 
reap the whirlwind of desolation. 

“Men of Maple Crossing, what have you done to 
keep the saloon with all its damning powers from 
fastening itself into the heart of your neighboring 
town? What are you doing to keep it from enter- 
ing your own fair town, should it so choose? Wilf 
you wait until the whetted knife has been struck in- 
to the heart of some son or daughter of Maple 
Crossing? Will you wait until the blood of some 
one of your own children spatters on your own- 
hands before you act? Will you wait until some 
one, or many of the immortal souls of Maple Cross- 
ing join the ranks of the drunkard in hell before you 
act the Christian’s part? 

“God forbid. But we are at the mercy of the 
state, and we are the state.” 

Hymn and benediction brought the service to a 
close, but the people sang and listened with a tense, 
expectant air. Even the children felt that some- 
thing of far-reaching importance had happened* 


56 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE DEACON PROPOSES A MUZZLE 

During the delivery of the young minister’s trial 
sermon, the pious people of Maple Crossing gave 
him their entire attention, too much interested to 
watch the face of Deacon Grey for a sign of favor or 
disapproval. If they had watched his face they 
would have been none the wiser, for it never wore a 
more passive, flint-and-iron expression; and the 
young minister was compelled himself to wait until 
the deacon spoke of the sermon before knowing 
what the result was to be. 

“You have preached with a view of becoming 
our pastor,” Deacon Grey said, bringing up the sub- 
ject, “and you preached a very unusual sermon.” 

“Unusual conditions require unusual treatment,” 
said the young man. 

“ But the pulpit should be used for no other 
purpose than to advance the simple mission of the 
church,” said the deacon. 

“And what, in your opinion, is the mission of the 
church?” inquired William Bruce, as quietly as 
possible. 

“The mission of the church,” replied the deacon 
solemnly, “ is to save souls, which it must do by 
elevating the morals in our own country and con- 
verting heathen nations.” 

“Which last we proceed to do as follows/’ the 
young man said, smiling, “we exert ourselves to the 
utmost, financially, to send a missionary to carry the 
Gospel to the heathen. The same ship that takes 
him carries also enough damnation in the way of 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


57 


American rum to destroy more souls in a year than 
the missionary can save in ten. . The heart of the 
church is good, but she has a poor head for figuring 
out cause and effect.*' 

The deacon shifted his attack. “You would 
prohibit temptation,*’ he said. “Do you consider it 
the making of a man to shut temptation away from 
him? ” 

“Not necessarily the making of a man, but the 
salvation, many times, of the boy,” was the stout 
reply. 

“Perhaps — but what sort of a man will a boy 
make who never learns to resist temptation? It is 
the mission of the church to teach men to resist 
temptation.” 

“And while the church is teaching one man to 
resist temptation the state is allowing its active 
partner, the legalized liquor traffic, to send a hun- 
dred men to hell. At this rate will the church 
purify society or evangelize the world?” 

“The attitude of the church is hostile to the 
liquor traffic. Her prayers ascend continually to 
God in behalf of the widows and orphans made so 
by this terrible crime. Her resolutions ring clear 
and unmistakable.” The deacon was growing al- 
most eloquent. 

“The voice of the church is all right,” replied 
the preacher. “ It is her actions that are lamentable; 
her continued neglect to help answer her own 
prayers in behalf of these widows and orphans is 
swiftly growing criminal.” 

“We are a conservative people in Maple Cross- 
ing,” the deacon remarked, after a pause, “and you 
referred yesterday to the unfortunate son of an un- 
fortunate neighbor of mine as being at the mercy of 
the state, intimating that as we men of Maple Cross- 
ing are represented in the general make-up of the 
state we are in some way responsible for the la- 
mentable condition of affairs in my neighbor’s 


58 AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 

family. It strikes me that your way of sayings 
things leaves a w4*ong impression, and I consider 
your expression, ‘ at the mercy of the state,’ little- 
short of heathenish.” 

“And yet it but dimly hints of the heathenism of 
a state in partnership with the liquor traffic.” 

“ But you misconstrue the attitude of the state. 
The state does not approve of the saloon. On the 
other hand the state, by her courts and judgments,, 
has delared the saloon to be a nuisance.” 

Again the minister smiled. 

“Yet the incontrovertible fact,” he said, “ is that,, 
in spite of all that, the state takes a price from the 
saloon, by virtue of which she allows the establish- 
ment and conduct of the nuisance. She turns the 
money received into the public coffers and uses it 
for its public purposes, while good men talk of the 
amount saved in taxes. As well might a harlot liv- 
ing on the proceeds of harlotry pretend to be op- 
posed, to vice. The facts declare otherwise. 

“As to a nuisance,” he continued, “ what would 
be the result if some injured mother should try to 
abate one of these institutions that the state, as you 
say, declares to be a nuisance and yet licenses?” 

Deacon Grey remained thoughtful a moment,, 
then he said: “I am not granting all that you say, 
but even were it true, the church can do no more 
than she is doing with the means in hand.” 

“ I can never understand the meaning of that 
statement,” said the preacher, warmly. “The church 
has the fighting strength at her command to strike 
the blow next election day, if she chooses, that will 
forever decide the fate of the legalized liquor 
traffic.” 

Deacon Grey assumed a satisfied air. 

“The church,” he said, “wisely casts her vote with 
that political party promising the most good to the 
most people.” 

The young clergyman looked into the cold, flinty 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 59 

eyes very earnestly as he said with emphasis: “And 
by voting with that party perpetuates the traffic that 
throws your neighbor's wife and son and orphan 
child unprotected on the world. Between the two 
great political parties there can be no choice when 
it comes to the irrepressible issue of the liquor busi- 
ness, for a high license policy is no more effective 
in crushing the traffic than the anti-sumptuary policy 
would be. Material prosperity would be a good 
rallying cry for a degenerate political party, but the 
welfare of the republic demands a recognition of 
moral issues, and the man who votes for the perpet- 
uation of the liquor traffic, upon any pretext what- 
ever, has signally failed in the discharge of his duty 
as a Christian and as a patriot.” 

“And you would advise what ” and the dea- 

con paused and waited. 

“I would advise the voting church to vote as it 
prays, to vote for the party, the only political party, 
that is everlastingly and unalterably opposed to the 
liquor traffic. I would advise that patriots and 
Christians vote to make it a blessing rather than a 
curse to be ‘at the mercy of the state.’ ” 

“You would make of the pulpit a political stump,”* 
sneered the deacon. 

“I would see to it that judgment began in the 
house of the Lord,” returned the younger man. 

“You are very outspoken,” Deacon Grey observed, 
after a moment that was evidently employed to con- 
trol his feelings. “We need stirring up in Maple 
Crossing — but not along this line. We do not be- 
lieve in mixing politics and religion. We believe 
the mission of the church is to make men strong to 
resist temptation, not to hedge the temptation away^ 
from the man.” 

“Your neighbor’s son Horace,” the preacher re- 
plied, “has been with you some time, yet I learn 
that the church has not rendered him proof against 
temptation.” 


6o 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


“He was all right until he went to Trentwood/ 
the deacon hurried to say. “In fact he was an un- 
usually good boy, with a high purpose and a remark- 
able will power.” 

“And he was all right in Trentwood, you have 
told me, until a certain Jacob Crane, acting by con- 
sent of the state, entrapped him?” 

“ He should not have been entrapped.” 

“ Certainly not; but that he was goes to prove 
that the church might have done him better service 
bad it kept the saloon from setting up in Trentwood 
to tempt him, than it did by warning him for ten 
years not to fall into temptation ” 

“ He should not have been tempted. I have 
raised three sons and not one of them drinks a 
drop.” 

“Were they raised across the road from a 
saloon? ” 

“They never saw a saloon while they were boys. 
We have never had one in Maple Crossing and never 
will. If the attempt were made I would stop it 
with my own hands.” 

“And in laying hands on licensed saloon prop- 
erty you would immediately discover the force of 
the silent partner — the state ” 

“You’re off the track on this question — away off,” 
the deacon said after another pause, “but you’re 
honest and a good speaker. I am therefore going 
to make you a proposition We will give you six 
hundred dollars a year with the parsonage thrown 
in, provided you do not preach politics.” 

“You mean that I must not recommend to my 
people the measure that I believe necessary to the 
overthrow of the liquor traffic?” 

“ Not if it be a political measure.’’ 

“Then I must decline your offer. There is no 
other measure to recommend.” 

“ We will raise your salary to seven hundred next 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


6l 



‘‘WE WILL GIVE YOU S600 A YEAR WITH THE PAR- 
SONAGE THROWN IN, PROVIDED YOU DO 
NOT PREACH POLITICS.” 


62 AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 

year, which is good pay for a place the size of Maple 
-Crossing.” 

“I must decline your offer,” the minister said 
firmly. “Not for seven thousand dollars will I dis- 
grace my calling and the pulpit I am called to 
occupy by wearing a muzzle.” 

“As you please,” Deacon Grey answered, all the 
flint and iron in his make-up coming to the front. 
■“We cannot agree on the liquor question, for I in- 
sist that if a man will let liquor alone it will not hurt 
him*. If he teaches his children, as he should, to let 
liquor alone, it will not harm them. The liquor 
traffic is a bad thing, but it is not exactly a iDeast of 
prey, or a savage with a club waiting in hiding for 
innocent boys.” 

“You have three sons and a daughter,” the min- 
ister said reflectively. 

“I have. My three sons have grown toman's 
estate and are safe. Girls — if my daughter were not 
lierself superior — rarely drink.” 

“They often marry men who do,” the minister 
answered. 

A quick flush mounted the face of the deacon. 

“ I will see my daughter dead before I will con- 
sent to .let her marry a man who drinks,” he said 
firmly. Then he added in a lighter tone: “Put it 
on record: Deacon Grey does not feel himself to 
be at the mercy of the state.” 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE, 63 ^ 


CHAPTER X. 

AN APPEAL TO THE STATE’s PARTNER 

Early on the morning preceding the midnight 
'when the screams of a temporary maniac aroused 
the Rev. William Bruce to preach his extraordinary 
•sermon^ Mrs. Russel had begun her accustomed 
watch for her boy, and when the usual time for his 
appearance had passed and he had not arrived, the 
overwhelming fear that was always brooding near 
her heart crept into it. 

All day she watched and when evening came she 
took her place by the gate and fixed her eyes in an 
unkroken gaze down the shaded street, but no sight 
or sound of him rewarded her watch until in the 
stillness of the night he dashed past her making the 
night hideous with his screams. 

The greater portion of the night after he had 
disappeared down the shadowy road, she stood at 
the gate trying to shape some plan of action where- 
by she might snatch him back from destruction. 
Her one sole hope seemed to lie in an appeal to 
Jacob Crane, and although the day following was 
Sunday she determined to visit him at once and 
plead with him, as a woman pleads for life, not to 
sell Horace any more liquor. 

By way of the road it was four miles to Trent- 
wood; by rail it was not so far, and she determined 
to walk along the tracks, both to save time and to 
lessen the chances of meeting anyone. Leaving 
Dot in bed with the kitten, she started on her long 
walk, and at length, wearied almost to the point of 
exhaustion, caught the welcome glare of red switch 


64 AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 

lights, and knew that she had reached Trentwood. 

Leaving the track opposite the platform of the 
station, she approached the telegraph window and 
peered in with the faint hope of seeing Horace, but 
he was not there. In his place was a stranger, and 
with a heavy heart she crossed the street in the di- 
rection of Crane’s Place. 

The building seemed to be dark. The front 
doors were closed and deserted, but before she had 
reached the place someone stepped out of a back 
door, and the stream of light that fell for a moment 
across the pavement told her that the place was not 
entirely deserted as it appeared. 

Several times she approached the place, and even 
after she had lifted her foot to the step, she paused; 
but the vision of a stranger in the place where Hor- 
ace should be sitting decided her movements. Ex- 
pecting to find the proprietor of the place alone on 
a Sunday evening, she stepped in. She was much 
surprised on passing beyond the screens to find the 
room occupied by a number of men and boys, and 
the sight of two slender boys at the bar in the act of 
drinking gave her a sudden start, for one of them 
looked like Horace. 

But a second glance reassured her, and so great 
was her relief that she did not stop to think of the 
flagrant violation of the law that was taking place 
before her eyes. She did not even note that the 
boys quickly put their glasses on the bar and that 
these with the bottles beside them were hurriedly 
whisked away. She thought only of Horace. 

“Do you know Horace Russel?” she inquired, 
stepping to the bar. 

“Horace Russel?” Jacob Crane inquired, some- 
what crossly. “Night operator across at the sta- 
tion?” 

“Yes.” 

“Slightly acquainted with him, madam.” 

“ He is my son.” 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 65 

“ A very nice looking boy and as keen as a knife 
blade.” 

“ He is my boy,” Mrs. Russel repeated, “ and last 
night he was — was — I may as well say it,, he was 
drunk.” 

“ Yes, madam.” 

“ He was drunk, I say,” she repeated wildly, the 
uncertain light dancing in her eyes. 

“ I’m sorry to hear it, madam. Bad habit for 
boys to get into.” 

“Did he get his liquor here?” 

“ Very likely.’' 

“ Did you sell it to him? ” 

“ I do not remember.” 

“Do you know he cannot hold his position if he 
gets drunk?” 

“ I should not suppose he could.” 

“And do you know that we were destitute and 
half starved when he got this position? ” 

“ I had not heard of it,” and Jacob Crane, half 
turned to hide a smile. 

“And we will be again if he loses it,” she con- 
tinued wildly. 

“That will be very sad,” he said, with a show of 
pity. 

“And I have come to beg a favor of you. You 
are a man. You do not know what it is to hear 
your children cry for bread. Perhaps you do not 
know what it is to see them shiver in winter. You 
do not know what it is to suffer — to suffer for com- 
mon necessities — but, my God! I know what suffer- 
ing is, and mine has all come to me through drink!” 
and she pointed to the bar beside which the boys 
still stood. 

“And now I’ve come to beg with you, to plead 
with you, to pray you, for the love of God to have 
pity on me and promise me that you will not sell my 
son any more liquor. He is so good, so bright, so 
brave ; and he has such a splendid will ; he is 


66 ' AT THE* MERCY OF THE ‘ STATE. 



^‘PROMISE me!” and stepping TOWARD HIM SHE 
REACHED HER TREMBLING HAND FORWARD 
AND WAITED FOR HIM TO^[SPEAK. 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 


67 


making our poor lives so happy, and the future holds 
so much of pleasure for us all. He never drank 
until you came here, and he never would. He does 
not want to drink, Promise me — for heaven’s sake 
promise me that you will not sell him any more of 
the poison that makes a maniac of him! If you do 
you will kill me as surely as if you struck a knife in 
my heart — you will damn him as surely as if you 
with your own strong arm pushed him off of some 
high wall into hell. Promise me!” And stepping 
toward him she reached her trembling hand forward 
and waited for him to speak. 

“There have been exactly ten women in this 
place this week asking for such a promise/' Jacob 
Crane said impatiently. “ If I promise every mother 
who asks me, where will my living come in? I must 
live.” ^ 

“ Must your living come by my death and by 
my boy’s destruction? Must you, like a leech, suck 
the very life blood out of our existence?” 

“ Don’t get excited and’talk saucy! ” Jacob Crane 
■commanded. 

“But I will!” she exclaimed fiercely. “You 
have no right to sell the poison to my boy that is 
certain to curse his life and send his soul to torment 
— you have no right, I say!” 

Jacob Crane caught her roughly by the arm and 
led her to the rear of the bar. 

“Woman,” he said, with a touch of savage tri- 
umph in his tone as he pointed to a framed paper 
hanging against the wall, “read that and see whether 
or not I have a right to sell liquor to your boy! ” 

Mrs. Russel turned her eyes to the paper but the 
letters seemed to snarl and twist in a manner that 
made reading impossible. 

“What is it?” she inquired in bewilderment. 

“ It is a liquor license and I obtained it from the 
state, and though all the women in the state come 
here swearing on their knees that I have no right to 
sell whisky, the state protects my interests. If you 


68 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 


want to get up a fight, fight with the state. If the 
state don’t want me here let it say so by refusing to 
take from me a part of my profits. That it does 
accept a portion of the cash I take in is proof of its 
good will, no matter what may be said to the con- 
trary. Tell your troubles to the preacher — the poli- 
tician — the state! ” 

“The state! the state!” she exclaimed. “I do 
not understend. Why should the state enter into 
the business of ruining boys, starving children, 
spoiling homes, breaking mothers’ hearts and send- 
ing men to hell? ” 

“You are a little excited. Women often get that 
way, especially when they have boys. I do not 
sandbag your son and drag him here. He comes.” 

“ He would not if your place were not here to 
come to.” 

Jacob Crane laughed good-naturedly. 

“ Certainly not,” he said. 

“Promise me,” she said quickly, “for I must go 
and find Horace.” 

Jacob Crane regarded her a moment thoughtfully. 
Something in the expression of her eyes and in her 
hurried gestures gave him an uneasy feeling. 

“Very well,” he said, “ I’ll promise you.” 

“ Before Almighty God you promise you’ll never 
sell nor give Horace Russel another drop of liquor?” 

“ Before God and all the holy angels, I promise,’” 
he said gravely. 

Mrs. Russel breathed a sigh of intense relief. 

“God bless you,” she said, and hurriedly left the 
saloon. 


69 


AT THE ; MERCY OF THE STATE. 


CHAPTER XI. 

SHADOW AND AGAIN SUNSHINE 

When Mrs. Russel returned to her home after 
securing Jacob Crane’s solemn promise not to sell 
Horace any more liquor she felt a sense of security 
that she had not known since the saloon had been 
first opened, for it never once occurred to her mind 
that a rhan who would flagrantly violate every pro- 
vision of the contract entered into with his partner, 
the state, would violate any other contract he chose 
to make, without a pang of conscience. 

Entering the silent house after a hurried walk 
home she went to the bed where she had left Dot, 
and to her great joy found Horace lying by her side 
holding one of her thin hands in his and sound 
asleep. 

His breathing was regular and natural. His face 
was pale but his mother could detect no trace of 
liquor, though she bent low inhaling his breath. 

A lock of hair had dropped across his forehead, 
and once Mrs. Russel raised her hand to brush it off 
but stopped lest she should awaken him. There 
was an expression of boyish innocence on his face, 
and while she stood looking down on him it seemed 
to the mother that the screams of the night before 
must have come from the throat of some demon born 
in her own deranged mind, never from the sleeping 
boy. 

Though she was weary Mrs. Russel did not go to 
bed. Horace had her place and she did not want to 
disturb him; so all through the night she rocked 
softly or paced the floor, at intervals stepping to the 


70 at the mercy of the state* 

bed and bending low over the boy. Feeling secure 
in her belief that Jacob Crane would keep his prom- 
ise, her only fear now was that Horace had already 
lost his position, and impatiently she waited until 
morning to learn. 

“Who worked for you last night?” she inquired 
when, after a late morning sleep, he finally rose from 
the bed. 

“The student, I suppose,” he answered. 

“You had better try to sleep again this afternoon 
or you’ll not be able to keep awake tonight.” 

“I do not have to go tonight.” 

“Are you discharged?” she inquired quickly, the 
unnatural light dancing in her eyes. 

“Not discharged, mother, but laid off for a while 
— just a little while, I hope.” 

“What for?” and the question was slowly put. 

“The student let a train pass.” 

“Where were you?” 

“I was not there.” 

“I know — O God! I know where you were, Hor- 
ace, and everybody in Maple Crossing knows.” 

“Is it as bad as that?” he exclaimed bitterly. 
“How I wish — Oh how I wish from the bottom of 
my heart that I were dead!” and he pressed his 
hands to his head. 

“Don’t!” his mother cried sharply. “My life 
hangs on you, Horace. All the hope of our future 
is in your keeping. You are brave and strong and 
young. You have fallen, but your fall may prove 
your great salvation, yet.” 

“I wish that Crane had died before he set his 
foot in Trentwood. All was well until he came,” 
moaned tbe boy. 

“He will not sell you anymore of his poison,” she 
said assuringly. “I went to see him last night, my- 
self, and he promised me before God that he would 
never sell nor give you another drop. Take heart,, 
little boy. We have passed the worst now, for you 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 7I 

have learned what it will do to you — even to you,. 
Horace.” 

For a moment the changing expression on the 
boy’s pale face was uncertain, but as his mother 
watched she saw the old firm look of determination 
shaping itself, and when Horace looked up at her a 
moment later the expression of his eye was 
reassuring. 

“ How hard it is to learn as I have learned,” he 
said slowly, “but I have learned. Crane will never 
get a chance to refuse me the drop he promised he 
would. I will never set my foot in his cursed place 
again. Until I am reinstated in my position I will 
stay right here with you, mother. I will help you 
and study as I have never studied,” and Horace 
threw his arm around his mother and rested his head 
against her shoulder. 

She dropped her head until it touched his and 
then burst into a flood of tears. 

“ Don’t cry, mother,” Horace repeated softly 
over and over. “The worst is surely past now. Til 
shun Crane’s place as I would the pest house. I will 
be what I may be if I keep away from that saloon.”^ 

The days that passed while Horace stayed at 
home were peaceable days for Mrs. Russel, for her 
boy was always in her sight. Not once did he leave 
Maple Crossing. 

But he was not recalled to his position, 

A month slipped by and with it the wages that 
Horace had saved. 

Then another month, and at its end, Mrs. Russel 
found herself in debt at Deacon Grey's store. 

When a third month began with no prospect of 
Horace regaining his place, Mrs. Russel went out 
soliciting plain sewing. 

The necessity for this made Horace more miser- 
able than he had been since his father’s death, but it 
was useless to object. Bread they must have, and 
'the most he could do was to assist his mother, which 


72 AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 

he gladly did, even to running the sewing machine 
and washing dishes. 

Slowly the winter months passed and spring 
came again. 

The old apple tree blossomed and the days drew 
near when Nellie was to return from school. 

The thought that she would come and find him 
without work, or worse, perhaps, find him after all 
his talk and work, bending over a dishpan or a sew- 
ing machine, was to Horace most exasperating, and 
voicing his fierce determination never again to touch 
liquor, he wrote a letter to the chief dispatcher ask- 
ing to be taken on trial once more. 

After several days of eager waiting the reply on 
which hung so much of joy or disappointment came 
and was opened by fingers that trembled with appre- 
hension. 

The communication was brief and to the point, 
advising the young operator of the importance of the 
position he had once held and had applied for again, 
and of the great loss to property as well as of life 
that might ensue as the result of a trivial mistake. 
S )mewhat to his surprise Horace also learned that 
since his release from duty in Trentwood his conduct 
had been carefully observed, and that, since he had 
given no occasion for reprimand, he would be rein- 
stated, with the understanding that another offense 
would forever cut his name from the pay roll of the 
company. His orders were to report for duty at 
Trentwood the next night. 

When Horace read the contents of his letter he 
was almost too overjoyed to speak, and the task of 
manifesting the joy of the family fell to. the lot of 
little Dot, who danced and laughed until she was 
dizzy and out of breath. 

The days of “steak and doughnuts” were to re- 
turn. 

When Horace started out the next night with his^ 
lunch basket his mother and Dot stood by the gate* 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 73 

and watched his youthful figure disappear between 
the newly-leaved maple branches. 

The next morning, and for many succeeding 
morningi, ^'Horace came home promptly^ and though 
Mrs. Rus.§el watched his pale face closely^ looked 
deep into his clear dark eyes and bent over him 
while he slept to detect some trace of liquor on his 
breath, not by the slightest sign was she led to sup- 
pose that he had been again to Crane’s place. As 
the weeks passed the hope that though often crushed 
dies hard revived strongly. The quick, strange light 
■seldom danced into her eyes, and her lips, unused 
to singing, once more parted to shape long unsung 
melodies. 

To Horace life never seemed so full of pleasure 
iior the future so near. Looking back over the win- 
ter, in spite of his disgraceful fall and the temporary 
3oss of his position, he felt that he had indeed done 
well, for he had made long strides in his studies and 
had almost caught up with Nellie. 

He felt strong and secure, his heart was light as 
the days passed, each one bringing him nearer to 
the time when he could again see Nellie. He counted 
these days eagerly and was intensely happy with 
that happiness that comes to bless a man’s life but 
once. 


74 


AT THE MERCY OK THE STATE. 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE LAST MEADOW VISIT 

Nellie was coming, and on the morning of the- 
day on which she was to arrive, Horace, coming 
home to sleep after his night’s work, said: “Call me 
early, mother. Call me two hours before it is time 
for me to go. I am going to take a two hours’ trip 
to heaven. I am going to walk in the meadow with 
Nellie.” ' 

Mrs. Russel did not find it necessary to waken 
him. Before the appointed time he stood by the 
garden fence where they had so often climbed into 
the meadow and looked across the field that had 
once seemed so boundless. 

His first glimpse of it left the disappointing im- 
pression that it was pitifully small, but while he 
looked the field seemed to enlarge once more. The 
dark, still line on the farther side grew into a rush- 
ing river, and the dandelions multiplied and glistened,, 
until it seemed that heaven had dropped its stars. 
The babel of many insects changed to the chanting 
of deep mystery. Then came the vision of a tiny 
child in a gingham apron and pink sunbonnet. 
Sometimes she sat in the grass, sometimes she made 
tracks in the mud, oftentimes she fell, but she was 
never far from him, and the boy smiled as he dreamed, 
until his dream was broken by the rustle of a woman’s 
garment, and on turning he met the vision of his 
clream — a sunny-faced young lady in a dimity dress 
and a large sun hat. 

“Let us hurry over the fence into the magic spot/'’ 
she said. 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 7 $\ 

“Have you noticed, how near together the bound- 
ary fences run now?” he inquired. “Once they 
seemed a day’s journey apart.” 

“You must see with a child’s eyes to-day,” Nellie 
said. “You must listen with a child’s ears, think 
with a child’s thoughts and love with a child's soul.”' 

“How can I,” he inquired, “when you walk beside 
me in a trailing gown so thoroughly self-reliant? I 
used to help a little girl who often stubbed her toe.” 

“ Would it help bear out the illusion if you could 
lead her down the cow path once again ? ” 

“ It would do better — it would prove a reality.” 

“ Then here’s my hand. Now I am little once 
again. Take care of me.” 

Horace caught her hand quickly. 

“ How well it fits,” he said, pressing his fingers 
closely around it, “ and what a charm it possesses,., 
for I am slipping back to the old, sweet days. Listen,, 
Nellie, we are coming to the river* Do you hear it 
roaring ? We must be careful as we stand near it. 
It is large and angry and would like to carry us 
away.” 

They paused a moment and listened to the purl- 
ing of the stream. 

“What a river ! ” he presently said. “ I can step 
across it with ease.” 

“ And how much hotter the sun is than it used to 
be,” Nellie observed. 

“Let us go under the tree and watch the swans,” 
and she sat down on the bank and, removing her 
hat, lifted her face to the white flecked blue sky. 

Fora few moments they watched the lazy motion 
of the white masses, then Horace turned to his com- 
panion. 

“Can you make them out?” he inquired. 

“ I’m sorry,” she answered softly^ ’’but the swans* 
have gone. There are clouds now — only clouds and 
nothing more.” 

Horace laughed, but his laug:h ended in a sigh. 


76 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


“Then there is nothing left but the mystery in 
the thicket. Let us see if they still chant secrets 
that we cannot understand,” and Nellie inclined her 
head in the direction of the tangled growth where 
myriad insects kept the air vibrating with a ceaseless 
bumming. 

“ What do they say ? ” he asked after listening 
intently a few moments. 

“ I am trying my best to hear voices of mystery, 
but I hear only crickets and cicadas, with now and 
then a bull frog.” 

Again the boy sighed. 

“It’s no use, Nellie — no earthly use !” 

“ Not a bit,” she said, half sadly “ But, Horace, 
you are here and I am here.” 

“And life lies all before us,” he adaed quickly. 

Do you know the reason we hear no voice of 
mystery now ? It was only ignorance that lent the 
mystery in those other days.” 

“And is it because we are ignorant of what the 
future holds that we are happy — so very happy here 
now?” 

“ It cannot be entirely,” Horace answered thought- 
fully, “ for we are not so ignorant as then. There 
may be incidentals.that we cannot foretell, but the 
great long future itself is decreed. Nothing but 
death can wholly alter it.” 

Nellie shuddered. 

“ Death is too far away to be considered, Horace,” 
she said quickly, “and too cold and still — too dead 
and endless. Let us not talk of death. We have 
but begun to live. We have only learned a few of 
life’s lessons yet.’’’ 

“ I have learned my hardest.” 

“ What has it been? ” 

“The hardest lesson I ever learned, or the sad- 
dest knowledge that ever came to me, came the day 
I learned that there is some fatal weakness in my 
constitutional make-up that seems to undermine my 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 

will at times. Something; that makes me know that 
I must act the coward part and flee from a foe I hate^ 
instead of meeting it on its own ground and fight- 
ing it to the last finish.’' 

“You a coward, Horace? You are not afraid to 
meet any foe!” 

“I tried to meet the saloon as other men meet it 
every passing day, and you know with what results.. 
Since learning by the bitterest experience that a boy 
ever had, I have not so much as gone on Crane’s side 
of the street. I go behind it, to the side of it— any- 
where instead of in front of its open door, and these 
nights when the air hangs heavy I have closed my 
door to shut out the fumes of liquor that float across 
the street and almost bewilder me at times.” 

“But Crane will not sell you any more liquor — 
your mother has told me so.” 

“The only reason Crane will not. is because he 
will never get a chance. He has promised half a 
dozen women in Trentwood not to sell to their boys 
and he sells to them continually.” 

“Horace!” exclaimed Nellie, clenching her fist. 
“If Jacob Crane ever breaks his promise and sells 
you liquor, I will get a hatchet and go straight to 
his saloon and smash every smashable thing in his 
place — him, too,, if he gets in my way! It is a shame 
for a man to sell such poison as he sells. It is a 
shame that a boy like you must dodge the saloon 
and keep beyond its reach as if it were some deadly 
scourge or bloodthirsty beast of prey. It is a shame, 
I say, and I wish the women of this state would rise 
up and smash his cursed saloon into kindling wood!”" 

Horace looked into Nellie’s flashing eyes. 

“Nellie — little Nellie,” he said, sadly, “don’t 
you know that if the saloon were not protected by 
the state, the mothers of this country would have 
ended it long ago? The saloon is not like any 
other nuisance. Behind it stands the power of the 
state, always on the defensive as it must be, for the 


78 AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 

saloon pays many thousand dollars into the pocket 
of the state annually 

“They are in partnership, then?” 

“ Yes, it is a partnership affair, and a woman in 
.hitting the saloon would measure arms with the 
sovereign state, which she can never do unless she 
some day gets the ballot.” 

“And so it’s the state, the sovereign state, that 
is training boys to be cowards, that is teaching boys 
if they do not want to be tempted into a saloon 
.they must sneak around a back street or an alley.” 

“ I will not always have to flee before the face of 
the saloon, Nellie. I am growing stronger. I would 
be strong enough now only that I have come by my 
craving for strong liquor in the same way that I 
came by my will power. But the one must perish 
from disuse while the other forever grows stronger 
by vigorous exercise. I will be master of my fate.” 

“ How I love to hear you say it. It means so 
much to me. Sometime when our dreams come 
true, when we get a laboratory all our own, I will 
help you to discover something that will arouse the 
scientific world, or I will help you write a treatise 
that will command the attention of the whole med- 
ical profession. I have always wanted to be a 
physician, but my father says no. To be the wife of 
such a one as you are to be will be still better.” 

Horace looked into the girl’s eager face with all 
the intense love of his soul. 

“Nellie, .Nellie!” he exclaimed passionately, 
pressing her hand to his lips. 

“ Because I love you,” she said as if in answer to 
some unspoken question. 

“ But do you suppose your father will consent to 
your being the wife of a physician — the one we talk 
^o much of — any sooner than he would consent to 
"vour being one yourself.” 

“Not now, but when he sees what you will some 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 79 

day be, he will be happy, he will be proud to have 
things as we plan.” 

“And if he should not ?” 

“So far my life has been shaped according to his 
wishes. Even to-morrow I go to Adkins to take a 
four weeks’ special course in primary work so that I 
can take charge of the Maple Crossing school, not 
because I want to, but because he wants me to. 
Children should be obedient, and I have been and 
will be, until the tirhe comes when I cannot be 
obedient and do justice to myself. When that day 
comes I shall use a woman’s judgment and act 
accordingly.” 

“ Nellie,” said Horace slowly, “ I do not want you 
to go to Adkins. I never think of the place without 
a shudder. It is there that the state, in all its regal 
might, is seen in partnership with the saloon, for 
they are on every corner. It seems to me that death 
in such a place must lurk on every hand.” 

“ But I will not go near a saloon. The saloon 
power will not harm me if I let it alone.” 

“ It hurt me before I was born and has not ceased 
to torment me ever since,” he urged. 

“ But there is a difference. Do not fear. The 
saloon can never strike at me unless through you, 
Horace.” 

Tears sprang to the boy’s eyes. 

“Then it will never strike you, never, darling 
Nellie.” 

For a few moments they sat in silence, Horace 
studying Nellie’s face lovingly. 

“ I have always known that you are beautiful, 
Nellie,” he said presently, “ but I never saw you look 
quite as you do this afternoon.” 

“ It’s in your eyes,” she laughed, merrily. 

“ I should like to see you in your graduating 
gown. I have dreamed of how you must look. Will 
you put it on some day and call me to the fence?” 

“When I come home from Adkins.” 


So 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 



“I SHOULD LIKE TO SEE YOU IN YOUR 

GRADUATING GOWN.” ^ 


When Horace started to his work that night 
Nellie stood on the front porch. 

‘ Good-bye, Horace,” she called, “be good while 
I’m away.” 

And looking back as he paused before turning 
the corner, he saw that she still stood on the porch 
and the motion of the hand she lifted and waved 
told him that she yet watched. 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


8i 


CHAPTER XIII. 

NELLIE COMES HOME 

The city of Adkins is one of those typical Ameri- 
can cities where the spirit of progress shows itself in 
its method of granting, for a cash consideration, a 
legitimte existence to certain soul and body destroy- 
ing agencies. 

Being central in location and approached by 
water as well as by many railroads, it is a famous city 
for political conventions, church conferences, indus- 
trial meetings and educational gatherings; and the 
public-spirited citizens of Adkins always keep a good 
supply of patriotic bunting on hand to be used for 
decorative purposes when either the brewers or the 
bishops hold a meeting to devise plans for furthering 
their respective interests. 

It was for one of the schools in this city that 
Nellie Grey, with a number of her companions, left 
Maple Crossing one cloudless summer morning. 

Deacon Grey’s usually stern face was relaxed and 
smiling as he assisted the young people in preparing 
for their drive, and it was with a look of admiration 
akin to worship that he turned his eyes many times 
on the smiling face of his only daughter, for in 
Nellie Grey, whose future seemed so bright, the long 
dream of his life was about to be realized. Nellie 
was to be a teacher in the Maple Crossing school and 
her days after her return from Adkins were to be 
spent in a home that had long been dreary without a 
woman’s presence. 

When all was ready, Nellie turned to her father. 

“ Kiss me goodbye,” she said lifting her face. 


82 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


“When will you outgrow your baby notions ?” he 
said holding her at arm’s length a moment. 

“ Never, Tm afraid,” she said, laughing. 

Then he put his arms around her and kissed her 
twice. 

After the carriage had started down the quiet 
road, Nellie looked back and called as she had to 
Horace, “ Be good while Tm away!” and long after 
the merry party had gone beyond sight and hearing, 
Deacon Grey stood on the step, his face wearing the 
tender expression that his daughter’s presence al- 
ways brought to light. 

After her brief visit home, the house seemed un- 
usually lonely and the deacon stayed at the store 
later than was his custom, and counted the days un- 
til Nellie should ■ return to go away no more. The 
third evening, as the long summer twilight was shad- 
ing into gloom, a messenger came to the door and 
handed him a telegram. With some curiosity as to 
what urgent matter had necessitated the sending of 
such a message at that hour, he hastily opened the 
envelope and drew out the folded yellow paper, 
which he spread on top of a glass show case, and 
after adjusting his spectacles carefully, proceeded to 
read. Over and over he read it, then he turned to 
the address to make sure there was no mistake, re- 
turning his gaze to the pale purple printing that bore 
the following news: 

“Your daughter shot and instantly killed by in- 
toxicated man at 7:45. Advise as to disposition of 
body.” 

When he had read the few neatly printed words 
a dozen times. Deacon Grey folded the paper calm- 
ly and went home to harness a horse to drive to 
Adkins. “How under heaven has such a frightful 
mistake ever been made?” he questioned over and 
over of himself, as he hastily prepared for the jour- 
ney which he confidently expected would set his 
mind at rest. 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 


83 


But the horrible mistake lay not in the telegram, 
but somewhere farther back, and when Deacon Grey 
learned that the impartial hand of death, directed in 
its aim by a rum-made maniac, had smitten his 
daughter, all the flint and iron in his nature seemed 
suddenly turned to multen fury, and in his fierce in- 
dignation he longed for a voice to speak the emo- 
tion that swayed him to the depths of his soul. His 
thoughts turned to William Bruce, whom he immedi- 
ately summoned by telegraph. 

The young minister had not yet heard the news 
of the tragedy and was somewhat surprised at re- 
ceiving the peremptory summons, but, supposing 
that it related to the pastorate in Maple Crossing, he 
immediately prepared to answer it in person. 

He was not met at the train and, having no con- 
versation with anyone on the way to the house, he 
was not prepared for the sight of the black rosette 
with its fluttering ribbons that hung by the door. 

While he paused, his name was spoken, and look- 
ing up he met Deacon Grey, his face flushed, his 
eyes bright and something like a hard, unnatural 
smile hovering over his face. 

“ Come in," he said, grasping the minister by the 
hand. “Come in. I have sent for you to call down 
the curses of Almighty God on the man who has 
robbed me of my daughter. You are the man to do it — 
you have the gift of words— you fear no man. Speak 
for an old man that has been robbed. Curse him! 
Curse him! " and Deacon Grey clinched his fist with 
feverish force. 

So overcome with surprise was the minister that 
he paused at the threshold, for a moment speech- 
less, then he faltered, “ I do not understand." 

“ Come in! " again commanded Deacon Grey, and 
conducting William Bruce into the hall he thrust a 
paper into his hand in which the following lines 
met his eye: 

“NELLIE GREY SHOT. Nellie Grey, the 


84 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 


daughter of a wealthy and influential citizen of 
Maple Crossing, was shot and instantly killed last 
night. Sitting with a little group of friends upon 
the lawn of the home where she was boarding, the 
charming young woman was singing ‘Home, Sweet 
Home,’ when a shot rang out sharply. The song 
ceased suddenly with the pathetic words, ‘Home, 
Sweet Home,’ and the singer dropped lifeless to the 
ground, her right temple pierced by a bullet hole. 

“The murderer is the son of a well-to-do farmer 
living near this city. He has been in town several 
days and has spent his time visiting dives and 
vicious resorts. He is nearly frantic with the results 
of his shooting and declares that he only intended 
to frighten the young ladies. 

“The victim’s body has been removed to Maple 
Crossing for burial. The murderer is safely lodged 
in jail.” 

“ God forbid! ” exclaimed the young minister with 
a trembling voice. 

“But God did not forbid, though I’ve been 
serving him for over forty years!” the old man ex- 
claimed passionately. “It is true, and I have sent 
for you that you may stand beside her open grave 
and with your whole soul and mind and strength 
curse the man that has robbed me of my child — my 
daughter. Come!” he again commanded, and seiz- 
ing the minister’s arm he drew him through the hall 
and front parlor and paused in the doorway of the 
second room. 

“There!” he exclaimed excitedly, pointing his 
long arm across the room, his finger trembling as if 
palsied. “They are digging her grave while we 
stand here — every minute a shovelful — two shovel- 
fulls — three shovelfulls of cold earth are tossed out 
of her narrow grave! Oh, my God! my God! — and 
you are to stand by that grave and call down 
heaven’s direst curses on the man that has robbed 
me of my daughter.” 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


85 


She was reclining on her side, her sunny hair 
resting on a satin pillow. She wore a soft white 
dress — her graduating gown, and from beneath the 
ruffle one white slipper peeped out. Her left hand 
lay by her side, and in the other, which had dropped 
across her breast, she held a June rose. 

Her position was so natural, her face so restful, 
that the young minister took an involuntary step 
backward and breathed softly lest he should awaken 
her. 

But a second swift glance showed him that the 
couch was a casket with the side dropped down. 
Still the delusion lasted, until the stillness was 
broken again by the harsh voice of the bereaved 
father. 

“She will never wake again. She was put to 
sleep by a bullet,’^ and, stepping rapidly to the 
casket he raised the head of the fair corpse. 

“Look under!" he commanded, and William 
Bruce mechanically dropped on his knees and 
looked. 

Against the pallid white of her temple a blue- 
black wound showed distinctly, and on the pillow 
which her head had pressed a faint pink stain was 
outlined. 

“ Have you seen? " the old man inquired huskily, 
still holding the head above the pillow. 

“ I have seen," the minister answered, with a 
groan he could not suppress. 

“ Then tell it! 1 am old and undone. I am de- 
frauded of the happiness that I have planned for 
years. My child lies before my eyes, murdered. 
Curse her murderer!" 

“That I will!" answered the minister, fervently. 

“I am alone — all alone in my trouble!" the 
deacon said suddenly, after a pause. 

“No — not alone," Bruce said kindly. “Fifty 
thousand other fathers have been stricken as you 
are stricken this day. Fifty thousand mother 


86 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


hearts have bled as yours bleeds to-day. You are 
not alone. You are but one of an innumerable and 
ever increasing throng that must be outraged, 
robbed, and worse than killed.’' 

'‘Yes — yes,” interrupted the old man. “Worse 
than killed — you understand. Curse him! Curse 
him!” 

“I think,” the minister said thoughtfully, “your 
idea is that I shall say such words beside your 
daughter’s grave as will turn the attention of those 
present to the real cause of this tragedy. I think 
you wish me to call down the curse of Almighty God 
on the Curse that has caused the sorrow of the un- 
numbered thousands who suffer with you. If so, I 
must not curse a man but a traffic.” 

“ Curse it.” 

“ But the liquor traffic has been made by law as 
legal as your own respectable business. Behind it 
stands the state.” 

“Then curse the state! Curse the state! Sift 
the matter to the bottom and let the curse fall where 
it may.” 

And William Bruce remembered the awful con- 
trast between this meeting and his last conversation 
with Deacon Grey. 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


87 


CHAPTER XIV. 

“they have taken her away” 

The funeral of Nellie Grey was one never to be 
forgotten by those in attendance or by the minister 
officiating. 

A congregation composed of almost every per*- 
son in Maple Crossing and numbers from the sur- 
rounding country crowded into the quiet burying 
spot, back of the Maple Crossing church, and stood 
knee deep in the long grass. 

When the casket had been put in place, and the 
four strong men who were the chief mourners had 
taken their position near the edge of the grave, the 
minister opened his Book. 

“ Some months ago,” he said in his clear tones, “ I 
spoke to you in your church, using for a text a verse 
of prophetic Scripture particularly adapted to condi- 
tions existing in our country to-day. My words at 
that time sounded strange to you. You did not see 
the grave necessity that forced the message. You. 
had not heard the mutterings of the destruction that 
has so long impended. You had not heard the wail 
of motherhood. You had not caught the vision of 
tortured faces. You had not seen in the vision ten 
thousand hands lifted beseechingly to you, nor heard 
ten thousand voices pleading to you for help, and as 
I spoke you thought you listened to the prophecy of 
a blow that would never fall. 

“To-day I stand before you, summoned by one 
on whom the blow has fallen; summond by a father 
—a defrauded and robbed father. I stand here to- 
day to speak the last words at the ceremony that 


88 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


takes a loving and loved daughter from the arms of 
a father and three brothers and gives her into the 
silent keeping of the grave; and in doing this I wish 
to call your attention to a passage of Scripture which 
you have heard but which has never sounded in your 
ears as it will sound now.” 

Then he read: “‘A wonderful and a horrible 
thing is committed in the land . . . and what 

will ye do in the end thereof?’ ” 

“I have been asked,” went on the preacher, “by 
the father of our lifeless friend to call down the 
curse of God on the Cause, wherever found, that has 
robbed him of his child. 

“To do this may not be pleasant, but until the 
“wonderful and horrible thing’ that stains our land 
has been removed, before God I can do nothing less 
than cry aloud and spare not. 

“The hand that held the weapon by which this 
life was suddenly extinguished, was palsied and 
shaking like a leaf. When the poor, trembling, 
rum-made maniac aimed into the moonlight on that 
fatal night to shock the life from a stout young 
heart, he did not mean to kill. Behind him stands 
the legalized saloon, which is the cause of murder 
unceasingly. For the sake of bloody gold, the sa- 
loon continually wrecks and is allowed to wreck 
human lives. 

“ No need to curse such a traffic. God’s curse 
already rests with the heaviness of Omnipotence up- 
on the traffic, but cursed though it may be, ten thou- 
sand times ten thousand curses cannot take its life, 
for the fact remains that the state has made it a legal 
institution. 

“Let me find the power behind the crime-pro- 
ducing agency of the day and on this let me call my 
curse. 

“ The power behind the crime-producing agency 
is the state — the sovereign state. You know it — 
yes, you know it well. For a stipulated sum the 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 89 

state grants to the liquor traffic the right to make 
maniacs of men otherwise peaceably inclined. The 
state for revenue gives to a class the right to engage 
in making robbers of purity, robbers of manhood, 
robbers of motherlove, robbers of happiness, robbers 
of hope, robbers of life — murderers! Men, women 
and children are tempted, fall and are doomed to 
destruction at the mercy of the state. At the mercy 
of the state! Truly a wonderful and horrible thing 
is in our midst! But shall I curse the sovereign 
stater 

“ Let us sift the matter to the bottom. Let us 
find who Almighty God will hold responsible for the 
wholesale robbery that is being committed in our 
land. Let us find the power that steals from the 
homes of whitehaired parents their sons and daugh- 
ters and gives them without pity to the grave by the 
thousand every passing month. 

“What is the state? The voters are the state. 
The voice of the voter is the voice of the state. The 
will of the voter is the law of the state. 

“ Men and women, before God, beside this open 
grave which is soon to close over the form of one 
you have known and known to love, here to-day let 
us have courage to sift this matter to the bottom. 
Do we expect the saloonkeeper, the brewer and the 
politician to vote against the power that furnishes 
them their means of living? Do these profess to 
have the cause of God’s eternal justice burning in 
their souls? 

“The nation looks to another class for its purify- 
ing. The victims of these men hold out their hands 
to another power for succor. That power is the 
church of God — the church with its many millions 
of voting strength and its ceaseless prayers. But, 
while the church continues to cry vengeance on the 
robber and promises help to the victims, it continues 
to cast its fighting strength with the powers that 
make the state — the state that seems to know no 


go 


AT THE MERCY OE THE STATE. 


mercy, the state that pushes its weak ones to the 
ground, selling their enemy the right to outrage them 
and to tramp them into the dust. 

“ How long, men of this great state, will you al- 
low your sons and daughters to live and die at the 
mercy of the state? The state assumes the protec- 
tion of the weak. Did it protect from the natural 
product of the legalized saloon the innocent victim 
who sleeps here beside her ready grave? Did it 
protect the gray-haired father who stands here, 
heart-wounded with wounds that cannot heal? Did 
it protect these brothers from the outrage of seeing 
their only sister brutally forced from life and sun- 
shine into the stillness and cold of the tomb? Will 
the state protect your sons? Will the state protect 
your daughters, your mothers, 3^our babies, from the 
ravages of the saloon? Where will the blow fall 
next? Fall it must, so long as the power protecting 
the curse is the sovereign state. 

“ Our friend, our friend’s daughter, has gone from 
us. We have come to pay our last, sad tribute to her 
memory. She has passed beyond the border of the 
state that has not yet learned to be merciful, to the 
wide borders of the sure mercy of the Eternal King- 
dom. It is well with her soul, for by her life she 
fellowshipped with Christ. 

“ Her tender heart will never be wrung with such 
unutterable pain as wrings the hearts of many of the 
mothers of our proud state to-day. Never will her 
soul be numb with the anguish of seeing some loved 
one robbed of manhood and blighted while he travels 
the slow and tortured way to a drunkard’s grave. 
Her quiet breast will never be troubled with such 
sobs as to-day choke the breasts of uncounted hun-- 
dreds of the noblest women of our race. Her closed 
e3^es will never be flooded with such tears as at this 
moment run in torrents down the pale cheeks of the 
outraged motherhood of our state. Her still, white 
hand will never reach pleadingly into empty dark- 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 


91 


ness in a vain endeavor to hold back from the brink, 
of destruction some one whose life is worth more to 
her than her own. She is at peace, and the God of 
eternal, justice will see to it that her death be 
avenged, let the curse fall where it may — on the state 
that knows no pity when it sells the right to destroy 
life — on the voter, the Christian voter to whom much 
has been intrusted and of whom much is expected.” 

Then followed the prayer, warm with a sympathy 
that seemed like that of the Divine Master, but as 
deep in its probing of souls as the words that had 
just been uttered. 

Then the end had come. The earth was ready 
to be returned to earth, ashes to ashes, and dust to 
dust. The coffin was gently lowered, and as it dis- 
appeared in the open grave a meadow lark in an 
adjoining pasture poured out a trill of song, and the 
long grass bent under a gentle breeze and rustled 
softly. 

While the sexton hesitated before dropping the 
first loose clods a scream was faintly heard in the 
distance. The assembled company stirred, but the 
cry died away. 

Scarcely had the first earth clod sent back its 
hollow sound from the grave when the cry was heard 
again, this time more distinctly, and a hundred 
bowed heads were raised. 

Nearer and nearer it came now, the cry growing 
into a plaintive wail as if some maniac were trying^ 
to sing and laugh and weep at the same time. 

Then the swift clatter of horse hoofs beat on the 
air, and as the cause of the disturbance drew near 
the company looked eagerly toward the highway. 

The vehicle was now quite near, and the assem- 
blage around the grave caught in broken snatches 
the words of the old refrain, half sung, half shrieked: 

“ O, mv dear Nellie Grey, 

They have taken her away! 

That was all. Over and over it w^as repeated 


92 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


with many breaks and in many different tones of 
voice, and as the vehicle dashed past an open place 
in the shaded road it was seen to contain two boys. 

As the maniacs rushed by the company around 
•the grAve shuddered, but the young minister listened 
intently. 

He had not been able to distinguish the features 
of the boys as they passed, but he was certain that 
from a distance he heard a woman’s voice cry: 

Horace! Horace!” 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


93 


CHAPTER XV. 

WHEN reason’s LIGHT GOES OUT 

After the funeral of his daughter Deacon Grey 
took the young minister home with him, and the 
position he had offered him conditionally some 
months before he now pressed upon him, the one 
condition required being that he make unremitting 
war on the legalized liquor traffic. 

In thinking, on the day of the funeral, that he 
heard a woman’s voice cry: “Horace! Horace!”' 
William Bruce had not been mistaken. When Hor- 
ace returned from Trentwood after the news of the 
murder of Nellie had been received in Maple Cross- 
ing his mother gently told him of the tragedy^ and 
he received the news much as Deacon Grey had^ 
refusing to believe it was true until an exclamation 
from Dot drew him to the window in time to see the 
undertaker from Trentwood fastening the long black 
streamers at the door side. 

Spellbound, he stood with his eyes fastened on 
the motion of the man’s hands, until the emblem of 
death had been securely fastened beside the door, 
then without a word he hastened to his room and 
locked his door, which was something unusual. 

In his room he remained, as was his custom,, 
until five o’clock, but his mother, who listened at 
the door many times during the day, was certain 
that she had heard him walking back and forth,, 
and once she heard him in a choking voice caO 
“ Nellie!” 


94 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 


During the day Nellie’s body was brought home, 
and when Horace finally appeared, ready to go to 
Trentwood, his mother suggested that he go over 
-to the stricken home. 

“She is dressed in her graduating gown,” she 
said, “and she looks ” 

“Mother!” cried Horace, sharply, raising his 
hand as if to ward off a blow, “dont! ” 

His mother stopped and left the room to hide 
from him the tears that filled her eyes. When she 
returned, shortly after, he had gone, without sup- 
per and leaving his lunch basket on the table. 

The next morning she began an early watch for 
him, and when the usual hour for his returning had 
passed without a sight of him, she began to grow 
distressed, for though he had been faithful and reg- 
ular for a number of weeks, there was always the 
haunting fear, not far removed from her heart, that 
roused itself to life when the boy was long absent. 

She had intended to go to Nellie’s funeral, but 
as the hours passed without bringing Horace, her 
neighbor’s trouble sank into a second place beside 
the, great fear that wrenched her heart. Well she 
knew that one more offense such as he had before 
committed would forever remove the name of 
Horace Russel from the pay roll of the company 
for which he worked, and start him squarely upon 
the highway to ruin. 

While the funeral procession formed in front of 
Deacon Grey’s house she stayed indoors, but when it 
had passed down the shaded road she again took her 
stand at the gate with her sad eyes turned in the 
direction of Trentwood. 

Before she caught sight of the rapidly approach- 
ing vehicle, the insane crying of her son caught her 
ear and drove with its first quiver pain like a knife 
into the unhealed heart wound. With all her might 
•she called him as he drove past, and wild-eyed she 
watched his flight, pressing her hands to her ears to 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


95 


keep out the sounds that were borne back on the still 
air. But he swept by without even a look toward 
her and out of sight down the road in a cloud of dust. 

As soon as darkness fell she prepared to go again 
to Trentwood, and this time she carried a pistol 
hidden in the bosom of her dress, fully determined 
to shoot Jacob Crane should she find that he had 
broken his promise. 

As on that other night she took the railroad track. 
As before, she paused a moment in passing the 
station to peep in the window, and as then she saw 
s. stranger sitting in the place where Horace had 
been accustomed to sit at night. With rapid steps 
she hurried across the street and entered the saloon. 

“Have you sold my boy any more liquor?” she 
demanded, approaching Jacob Crane, who was deal- 
ing out drinks to a couple of beardless boys. 

“Who are you, madam — who is your boy?” he 
inquired. 

“I am the mother of Horace Russel — Horace is 
my boy and you promised before God that you 
would not sell him any more liquor! I told you if 
you did he would lose his place— and that if he 
lost it ” 

“Has he lost his place?” Crane interrupted with 
a show of interest. 

“My God! I hope not!” she almost screamed. 

But someone has been selling him liquor! Was it 
you?” 

Jacob Crane shot a swift glance at the bar-tender. 

“ I have not, madam,” he said smoothly. “I 
promised I would not and I always keep a promise 
made to a woman.” 

“Somebody has sold my boy — my poor boy, 
more liquor! O God, how could anybody be so 
cruel — but somebody is — somebody has — and he 
^ot it here before! ” 

“ Bob,” said Jacob Crane sternly, addressing his 


96 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


bar-tender, “have you sold this woman’s boy any 
more liquor? ” 

“ Not a drop, sir,” was the prompt reply. 

“ Not a drop, madam,” Crane repeated blandly. 
“We have kept our promise. We are running a re- 
spectable place here.” 

“ Somebody has! ” Mrs. Russel exclaimed wildly. 

“Very sorry,” he answ^ered shortly, turning to 
mix a drink for a thinly clad old man. 

With her hand still clutching the pistol, Mrs. 
Russel started back to Maple Crossing, and as she 
went her lonely way she stopped often to call 
“Horace! Horace!” the fields and wooded patches 
along the way echoing the words softly. 

Upon reaching home she went to the bed where 
she had on a previous occasion found Horace sleep- 
ing, but he was not there, neither was he in his 
room, but during the night she kept up a tireless 
tramping between the two beds, as if expecting 
each time to find him in one or the other of them. 

With the morning came Horace, his eyes marked 
with heavy rings and an expression on his face that 
needed no words. But his mother did not seem to 
realize the blow. 

“Never mind, little boyl ” she said soothingly 
when he dropped his head on the table with a groan. 
“ Never mind. Stay here with me — your mother 
will take care of you,” and she seemed happy to* 
have him near her. 

Worn and disheartened Horace soon went to his 
room and dropped into a heavy sleep. When he 
finally awoke the room was dark, and he knew that 
his sleep had lasted through the day and into the 
night. What time it w^as he did not know, but while 
he lay awake someone entered the room and ap- 
proached his bedside softly. He could distinguish 
nothing with his eye, but he was sure that some per- 
son stood near. He felt that this person presently- 
bent over him, and then he felt a quick breath strik 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


97 


ing gently on his face. With a great sense of fear 
he lay perfectly quiet, and after a few seconds the 
breathing in his face ceased. A second later and 
retreating footsteps sounded. 

Raising himself to his elbow Horace stared into 
the darkness toward the dim square of gray that 
marked the window, and as he looked a figure passed 
casting a dark image against the dim light. 

“Mother!” Horace called softly, but there was 
no answer. 

• “ Mother,” he repeated, “is it you?” 

Still there was no response, but the figure re- 
crossed the room, casting its dim image across the 
gray square as it approached the bed. Horace 
dropped back on the pillow, and the next moment 
he felt the soft breath again blowing in his face. 
Then a hand was passed over his face, feeling its 
way from the chin up. 

“Yes, he’s here — he’s safe, poor little boy!” and 
the hand caressed his forehead and brushed back his 
hair. 

Horace was now satisfied that it was his mother, 
but her movements puzzled him, and again he spoke 
her name. 

“ Mother, mother, is it you? ” he questioned. 

She laughed, a low, gentle laugh. “That’s my 
little boy,” she said, as if talking to some unseen 
person. “ He’s a good boy — a dear, good boy! 
He’ll make his mother happy yet! ” 

Horace tried to lift himself, but she pushed him 
back with savage force. 

“No, no!” she said excitedly. “You must not 
get away from mother. He’s after you — the saloon 
— the state — the saloon!” and she paused as if un- 
certain, then added sharply, “ it’s after you! ” 

Horace dropped back on the pillow and a mo- 
ment later his mother again crossed the room. Be- 
fore she returned Horace slipped out of bed and 


98 AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 

sought for his clothing, for he was certain that his 
mother must be ill. 

While he was hastily dressing she returned and 
bent over the bed, and instantly a wild scream 
startled him into a cold perspiration. 

“ Horace, Horace! ” the wild voice cried. “ Has 
it got you — has it got you ? ” 

The frightened boy sprang to his mother’s side 
and threw his arm around her saying, “ Mother, here 
I am — here I am ! ” 

“ Give me back my boy ! ” she cried, clutching 
him in a grasp of iron. “ Give me back my boy ! ” 

“ Let me light a lamp,” he said desperately. 

“ Give me back my boy I ” she continued to cry, 
tightening her grasp. 

“ Feel of my face 1 ” Horace entreated, catching 
up her hand. 

Eagerly she ran her fingers over his face ; ten- 
derly she brushed his hair ; then she laughed a low 
satisfied laugh and kissed him. 

“Yes, it’s Horace — my boy. Go to bed, little 
boy ! ” And leading him to the bed she tucked him 
in as deftly as if it had been midday, and then with 
a last lingering kiss she left him in the darkness. 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 


99 


CHAPTER XVI. 

A LAST VISIT TO CRANe’s 

For a few clays Horace remained at home, but he 
was restless and uneasy, and finally, one morning, 
started away to Trentwood, presumably to look for 
work. 

Supper time came and he had not returned, and 
Mrs. Russel again prepared to go to Trentwood to 
search for him. As soon as the long summer twi- 
light had turned to darkness she set out, down the 
track, as usual. 

As before, she paused and peered into the station 
window, with the forlorn hope that she might see 
Horace in his old place, but the form of the stranger 
met her anxious gaze and she hurried across the 
street to Crane’s place. 

Pausing at the screen, she opened a narrow crack 
and peered earnestly at the crowd of boys and men 
that stood around the bar smoking and delivering 
themselves of stories adapted to the moral atmos- 
phere of the saloon. 

The air was dense with smoke and the babel was 
distracting to her over-wrought nerves, but some- 
thing that she saw suddenly drove all other thoughts 
from her troubled mind, for Jacob Crane was lean- 
ing over the bar holding out a glass, and the hand 
that reached for it was the hand of her son. 

As he lifted the liquor to his lips his face was 
plainly visible, and with a wild scream Mrs. Russel 
sprang into the place. Seizing the glass from the 
boy’s trembling hand, she dashed it to the floor. 
Then with the frantic motion of an enraged tiger she 


100 AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 

caught up glass after glass and bottle after bottle, 
throwing them in mad haste upon the floor, which 
was soon running with liquor. 

“Mother! Mother!” Horace cried, catching her 
arm. But she shook him roughly off and reached 
for other bottles that the bar-tender was hurriedly 
putting beyond her reach, while Jacob Crane seized 
her uplifted arm. 

“Hands off. you liar! You swore before Al- 
mighty God that you would not sell my boy any 
more liquor, and I have caught you in the act— I 
have caught you in the act! Stand back!” and she 
flung him aside with such force that he staggered 
against the bar. 

“You are crazy! ” he roared. 

“ Is a mother crazy because she would save her 
boy?” she shouted as the company in the room 
gathered around. 

“You are killing me! You are killing my boy! 
You are killing us all! You are damning us! Am I 
crazy to object?” she almost shrieked. 

“Keep still now, or I’ll have you put in the lock- 
up!” Crane said hotly. “You’ve smashed a dozen 
of my glasses and four quarts of whisky, for which 
your precious son shall pay!” 

“And I’m here to smash all the rest!” she ex- 
claimed, turning again to the bar. “ I’m here to 
clean this place out of existence— God help me, it's 
the only way it can be done, for you are a liar — a 
robber — a murderer! ” 

“ And so you have come here to stop my busi- 
ness?” said Crane sneeringly, stepping before her 
and blocking the way with his portly person. “You 
here — YOU, to stop my business? Woman, you are 
a fool! ” and he laughed coarsely. 

“Strike me and the state will strike back at you, 
for my interests are protected bv the state I have 
bought from the state the right to run this business, 
call it or me what you may. I have bought the pro- 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


lOI 


taction of the state no matter what that protection 
makes secure! ” 

Mrs. Russel stared at him inquiringly. 

“Do you understand?” he inquired with rising 
tones. 

“Understand?” she repeated in a dazed way. 
“No I do not understand. Why does the state wish 
to kill my boy? ” 

The look of scorn deepened on the face of the 
rumseller. 

“YOUR boy!” he exclaimed contemptuously. 
“Every mother in America thinks the saloon has 
been devised especially to trap /^^rdarling. Madam, ’ 
and he raised his finger stiffly, “ the state has not 
heard of your boy. In this country boys are as com- 
mon as pig tracks. If boys are necessary to keep 
my business running, what of it? They are only in- 
cidentals. The state does not count The state 

is interested in DOLLARS — and the dollars I pay.” 

Horace stepped to her side and spoke to her. 

“ Poor little boy!” she said, looking lovingly in- 
to his face. “ Poor little boy! ” 

Then she turned again to Crane. “ Let me fin- 
ish,” she said hurriedly. “You have lied to me — 
there is no other way,” and she started behind 
the bar. 

“ Don’t you dare to lay hands on my property! ” 
the saloonkeeper commanded with an oath. “You 
are a fool — a raving maniac, or you would know 
that I have as much legal right in Trentwood as the 
butcher or the baker. Get out of here and go home! 
I am here to sell liquor to any one and every one 
who can pay for it.” 

“To Horace — to my boy?'' 

“Yes, to your boy. That’s what I’m here for, 
and if you don’t want your little boy to drink in my 
place, keep him home with you and make a little 
girl out of him. Goon now! ’’and the genial pro- 


102 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


prietor of Crane’s Place, transformed into his true 
character, pointed threateningly toward the door. 

For a moment Mrs Russel stood gazing into the 
face of the brutal man. Then she said, “Yes, yes; 
ril keep him home with me. Come Horace!” and 
she turned to where he had been standing only to 



find that he had gone. 

“Horace! Horace!” she cried in tones that cut 
the air. 

“ He’s started for home,” Crane said. “You will 
overtake him if you hurry.” 



AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. IO3 

Without SO much as casting another glance 
around the room, Mrs. Russel made a hasty exit, 
and some moments after she had gone Horace re- 
turned to get a last drink, but he became interested 
in a game that happened to be taking place and 
stayed to see the end. 

This game was one strictly prohibited by law, but 
what cares that most anarchistic of all modern insti- 
tutions, the legalized saloon, for law? The law says 
to it “ Thou shalt not sell to minors,” and the saloon 
sells to minors. The law says, “Thou shalt not sell 
to drunkards,” and the saloon sells to drunkards. 
The law says, “Thou shalt not sell after midnight,” 
and the saloon sells after midnight. The law says, 
“Thou shalt not sell on Sunday,” and the saloon 
•sells on Sunday. 

As the game increased in interest, the passions 
of the players rose to a fever heat, that appeared in 
the sinister gleam of the contracted eye and the ner- 
vous clutch of the fingers around the cards; and 
when the last chance had been taken and the win- 
nings swept up by the winning hand, a difficulty 
arose which culminated in a fight in which three men 
rolled in the saw dust like dogs in a pit, and swore 
and clutched and grappled and panted, while the 
crowd closed in around them and Jacob Crane made 
frantic efforts to quell the fight. 

But his efforts were ineffectual. A mortal scream 
sounded above the din, and one of the combatants 
loosened his grasp and rolled into a pool of blood 
that spurted from a knife wound. Still the fight 
continued, until a moment later another deadly cry 
rang out and a second man fell gasping and struggling. 

By this time the police of Trentwood were upon 
the scene and succeeded in arresting a number of 
those in the barroom and among them Horace, who 
was either intoxicated or too spellbound by the 
horror of the tragedy to make his escape. 


104 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


When Mrs. Russel left Jacob Crane’s place she 
hurried her steps thinking to overtake Horace This 
time she took the roadway home, and once having 
left the limits of Trentwood, the houses along the 
way were closed and dark, as the hour was growing 
late. 

Along the roadside, clumps of trees threw dense 
shadows and into each spot of shadow she hurried, 
hoping to find Horace, and calling as she went, 
“ Horace! Horace! ” After passing out of each sha- 
dowy place she paused to look back as if to be cer- 
tain that she was not leaving him and then again 
rushed on, crying in agony for her boy. 

She was not long in reaching Maple Crossing; 
and all but exhausted with her fruitless pursuit, she 
hurried into the house and to Dot’s bed. 

Not finding Horace there she hastened to his 
room. His bed was empty also, but she bent over 
it and passed her hands across the pillow as she had 
done the night before. 

A moment only she caressed the pillow, then 
with a wild cry she sped out the door and down the 
street; and at midnight the peaceful hamlet of 
Maple Crossing was aroused by a woman screaming 
in an agony of heart torture, “ Horace! Horace!” 

Doors and windows were thrown open, and well 
knowing who the woman must be, a number of neigh- 
bors, among them Deacon Grey and the young 
minister, started in pursuit. 

As they followed the fleeing woman her voice 
rang back on the still air, crying always “Horace! 
Horace! Has it got you, Horace?” When they 
finally came in sight of her she was speeding down 
the middle of the road like a dark spirit, her slender 
figure showing indistinctly in the waning moonlight 
and her thin hair blowing back on the night breeze. 
When she had been overtaken, all efforts to soothe 
her proved vain. Her one word was “Horace!” 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. IO5 

Her eyes looked for but one sight and that was the 
face of her boy. 

“ God pity! " Deacon Grey groaned, as her inces- 
sant crying pulsated on the night air. 

“The silent partner in this robbery of reason will 
now take charge of the victim and, like the monstrous 
whited sepulcher of justice that it is, declare itself 
merciful," said William Bruce with a shudder. 


io5 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE victim’s PLEA 

While preparations were being made for the 
removal of his mother to the insane asylum near- 
Adkins, Horace in his cell was recovering from the 
effects of the liquor he had drunk the night before. 
With something of an effort he tried to recall the 
events of the night. 

His recollection of the fight was dreamy and far 
away — a vague impression of a battle in which vast 
numbers were engaged while the world revolved 
rapidly. How the trouble had come about, or what 
part he had taken in it he could not determine, but 
the fact that he found himself in a cell was of itself 
evidence that he had been among the number in the 
struggle. 

The events of the earlier part of the evening were 
clear enough in his mind, and shame and sorrow cut 
him to the heart when he thought of the part he had 
played in evading his mother. Her wild and excited 
manner and words, so different from her usual gentle 
ways, worried him, and he determined to hasten to^ 
her as soon as possible, and in the meantime to send 
some reassuring word. 

The opportunity for doing this seemed to present 
itself when the jailor announced to Horace that a 
friend from Maple Crossing wished to speak to him. 

Looking up the prisoner met the ki ndly face of 
the Rev. William Bruce, who greeted him cordially. 

“ I am the new minister in your town,” he said by 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 10 J 

way of introduction. “ Not long ago I was your age 
and I have not forgotten what it is for a boy to need 
a friend. What can I do for you? Do not hesitate 
to mention it.” 

“Will you take a message to my mother?” Hor- 
ace inquired eagerly. “She has not been well these 
last few days, and I treated her badly last night.. 
Tell her for me that I am sorry. Tell her not to 
worry. She will not be glad to know that I am here,, 
but she will be relieved to know that, for a time at 
least, I am safe from Crane’s place ” 

“When I see your mother I will gladly give her 
your message,” the minister said, “ but I expect to- 
remain in Trentwood until this afternoon when your 
case will be given a hearing. It will give you confi- 
dence to know that friends are with you.” 

“Thank you,” Horace answered earnestly. “But 
do you think you can send word to my mother not 
to come this afternoon?” There was a look of deep 
anxiety in his eyes. “Poor mother! It would be like 
her to come, and I am sure she could not control 
herself.” 

“She will not come,” the minister assured him,., 
“ I am quite sure she will not.” 

A moment Horace stood before his new friend,, 
separated only by the bars, then he covered his face- 
with his hands and a slight tremor passed over his 
body. 

“ Keep a brave heart Horace.” William Bruce 
said cheerfully. A long stretch of useful life lies all 
before you yet, if God pleases.” 

After the minister had gone Horace sat in deep 
study for some time, but at last a new thought seemed 
to have come to him. His mouth took on its natural’ 
firmness and a new light shone in his eyes. 

The expression on his face was not one of pleas- 
ure, rather the portrayal of the relief one experiences 
when a difficult task has been finally decided upon. 


I08 AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 

In the afternoon the courtroom was crowded and 
among the number Horace noticed several who had 
been in the barroom the night before. After a short 
■examination the murderers were positively identified, 
and the others of the number were held to answer to 
the charge of disturbing the peace. Before the fines 
were assessed, each was given a chance to speak; one 
after another of the sons of Trentwood pleaded each 
his case and paid his fine. 

While they spoke Horace listened, evidently 
agitated, but his face, though pale, never showed 
more determination, and when his name was called 
he promptly arose and faced the judge. 

“ Your Honor,” he said firmly, “I stand before 
you charged with the crime of disturbing the public 
peace, and because you sit to-day the representative 
of the law, I am going to state my case and throw 
myself entirely on your mercy. I am a free born 
American, having yet three months to live before 
reaching the years of my majority. My father passed 
from this world leaving me for an inheritance a will 
which has been my pride, and in the lawful exercise 
of which has been my only hope, and an equally 
strong appetite which, if allowed to take the course 
of its tendency, means my sure destruction. Ignor- 
ant of the fire that lay sleeping in my best blood I 
pushed back the tide of difficulties that has contin- 
ually gathered across my path since the day I first 
determined to make for myself a name and a place 
in the world; and though I have fought against such 
odds as have taken my life’s best energy, I have seen 
environments shaped to suit my plans until at last I 
found myself in a position to help myself and those 
depending on me into a new and happier life. The 
light came to my mother’s eyes — eyes that had long 
been misty with unshed tears and dull for lack of 
hope. Smiles came to the face of a child whose 
birthright has been clouded by the heavy curse of 
liquor, whose hands have ever been thin for the lack 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. IO9 

of proper food. Meantime the other inheritance 
slept — rousing now and then in such a way as not 
fully to reveal itself. 

“ While the lives that hung on my course were 
growing happier, even then, the destruction of us all 
was being planned, and we knew it when Crane’s 
place opened its doors across the corner from the 
station where I worked. If a hollow-eyed skull and 
gleaming cross-bones had been painted on every 
square foot of front surface, if dense darkness had 
shrouded the spot, only broken at long intervals by 
a bit of lurid glare, if the wails of the dammed had 
issued from that place as incessantly as they issue 
from the hearts and souls of its victims, and if the 
stench of millions of deaiil had issued unbroken by a 
fresh breath from its doors, I should never have en- 
tered the door under the sign ‘ Crane’s Place.’ But 
the skillful blending of many tints and colors with the 
flash of mirrors and the glitter of glass was arrayed 
to please the eye. The darkness of the outer world 
was dispelled by a myriad of radiant lights. The 
strains of music mingled with the babble of men’s 
voices was intended to catch the ear, while the scent 
of mixed liquor hung temptingly on the air. 

“ Born under the curse — having lived under the 
curse, still I did not recognize the curse. I saw the 
most influential, the most respectable men of Trent- 
\vood going into Crane’s place, and I, too, went to 
see for myself what that modern institution called a 
saloon is like. 

“ Then it was I took my first drink which was no 
sooner swallowed than it fanned the sleeping fire in 
my running blood into a flame — bewildering — dizzy^ 
ing — delightful — cursed 

“After trying three times to meet my enemy on 
his own ground and conquer by my will, I found my- 
self defeated. There remained nothing to do but pls-y 
the part of a coward and dodge the saloon, and 
though it humiliated me, I closed my hand over my 


J 10 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 


nose in passing to keep back the scent that seemed 
with invisible arms to draw me in. I steeled my ears 
against the music that like a siren’s voice seemed 
bewitching me to the shoals of my own destruction. 
I passed behind it. 

“ If this, my mortal enemy, had been some foe in 
heavy armour, some hitherto unconquered giant, 
some hydra with a hundred deadly heads, if it had 
been any thing on God’s earth besides a thing made 
legal by the sovereign state, I should have taken my 
life in my hands and delighted to fight the monster 
to victory or death for honor’s sake. But it was 
nothing I could meet in open battle. I could not 
fight it. I could not harm it by so much as a hair’s 
weight of harm, for behind it, calm, majestic, power- 
ful, stands the law— the power of the state itself. I 
would not willingly disturb the peace of any man. If 
I have done so, I have done so wholly without inten- 
tion on my part — this I insist. I therefore do not 
plead guilty of disturbing the public peace, but I 
plead guilty of utter failure to meet my enemy or to 
elude it. I plead guilty of being unable to match 
my will against that of other inheritance and win the 
fight I plead guilty — I am going to plead guilty to 
any charge that will put me in the state’s prison for 
five years. Do not think I have not weighed the 
matter. I know the shame of it. I know the pain of 
it. But I have counted the cost. Name the crime, 
your honor, that will put me for five, years in a cell — 
name it, and I plead guilty! 

I am of sound mind, the insane asylum will not 
protect me. I am of healthy body, the poor house 
can not be my home. I am of older years than those 
taken in charge by the reform school, but the state 
owes it to me that I be protected from what I have 
not been able to protect myself from. If the state 
must, for the sake of revenue, license the saloon ; if 
the state’s attitude to me must be without mercy up 
to this present time — be merciful now ! Save me 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


Ill 


from the saloon ! Give me five years — five years, 
your honor, in which to grow strong again! Five 
years of safety 1 Let me be shut away from all the 
world — give me another chance 1 Give me five years! 
I am pleading for the state to show me mercy. I 
want a chance to be strong. I want to be beyond 
the reach of the open saloon. For the sake of my 
mother’s bleeding heart — for the sake of my sister’s 
pleading eyes — for the sake of my future — for the 
sake of her who sleeps .” 

His clear voice came to a sudden pause. His 
eyes which had been resting beseechingly on the 
face of the judge were suddenly overcast with tears. 
His fingers trembled against each other and he sat 
down. 

Stillness reigned in the court room, only to be 
broken by the judge, who used his handkerchief 
vindictively. But while he was visably affected, he 
was there to deal out mercy only as directed by law, 
and though he talked in a fatherly way, commending 
Horace for the brave fight he had made and advising 
him to shun the saloon as he would the pest, he as- 
sured him that the state makes no provision for the 
protection of its boys until they have so far become 
victims of its own legalized traffic as to have com- 
mitted some grave offense. 

Horace was not to be taken in charge by the 
state. The power into whose trap the boy had fallen 
refused to give him help, though in the agony of a 
last hope he pleaded for it. 


II2 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

“GOOD-BY, HORACE” 

After Horace had made his ineffectual plea 
to the state for help, his fine was paid by Deacon 
Grey and he was taken in charge by the Rev.William 
Bruce, who was waiting to take him home to Maple 
Crossing. The light that had shone in the boy’s eyes 
and the emotion that had forced his words while he 
had spoken had gone, leaving his face wan and worn 
and his hands nerveless. 

“ I hoped,” he said wearily, “ that the state would 
listen to my pica. I know it was unusual — wild per- 
haps— but it was my last hope,” and a long sigh fol- 
lowed the words. 

“ You are too young and brave to speak of a ‘last 
hope, ’” the minister said cheerfully. “That the 
state does not protect its weak members, but on the 
other hand makes legal the power that curses their 
existence, is the crime of the age and will cause the 
ultimate undoing of the state itself if persisted in, 
but you have by no means passed the pale of hope. 
The way to victory has been half traveled when a 
man discovers his need. If you have learned your 
weakness, get strength from God. In your own 
strength you may not fight this fight with a shadow 
of a chance of winning, but with the strength that 
comes from above a man can meet any power or 
force and come off more than conqueror. You are 
a young man with a will. I have heard it spoken of. 
Assert this will — this magnificent wib — in Goa’s 
name.” 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. II3 

‘•My will!” Horace exclaimed bitterly. “Ah, 
yes, I have a will, but do you know it tears the life 
out of a fellow to be made the fighting ground of a 
will like iron, and a something in him equally strong 
and hot and fiercer than wolves’ teeth. While the 
fight between the two invisible powers lasts my very 
existence is torn and scattered in hell, and rather 
than live in hell an hour a man will call his will off 
and let the other have the right of way. I’ve tried 
it over and over. For fame — for honor — for love 
have I made the fight. I can only conquer by play- 
ing coward and running from my enemy, the saloon. 
I intend to rest a few days with my mother ; then I 
shall set out and search the world for a spot where 
the power that has cursed my life may not follow 
me.” 

They drove a short distance in silence, then the 
young minister told Horace the disappointing news 
that he would not find his mother at their home. 

Other than one sharp exclamation, Horace gave 
no evidence of sorrow, pressing his thin lips tightly 
as the minister briefly and without the unpleasant 
features told the boy how his mother had been taken 
in charge by the public officials. 

“ My mother is insane,” he said as if to himself, 
when the minister had finished, “and I am to blame.” 

“Not all to blame, ’’William Bruce answered, “but 
if your conduct has been in any way responsible for 
your mother’s mental condition, your conduct and 
yours alone will be able to restore her to her 
natural self.” 

“ And for this I must make another effort though 
it kills me,” and the words were followed with a sigh 
that spoke more plainly than words of the hopeless- 
ness of the task. 

“ I am returning to an empty house — and a fresh 
grave,” Horace said, as he alighted from the buggy; 
and the minister drove away understanding now why 
Horace had so abruptly ended his talk to the judge. 


114 at the mercy of the state. 

'As the sore-wounded boy slowly approached the 
dilapidated house, Dot suddenly appeared and 
rushed toward him holding out her hands. 

“ Horace ! Horace ! ” she cried, flinging herself 
into his arms, “ they carried mother away this morn- 
ing and they’re coming back to get me. Don’t let 
them get me! Don’t! Don’t!” and she burst into sobs. 

With the child clinging frantically to him, Hor- 
ace entered the silent house, took his little sister in 
his arms and wiped the tears from her pale cheeks. 

“ Don’t be afraid, Dottie,” he said, smoothing 
back her soft hair, “ I have come home to take good 
care of you.” 

“ But they are coming to-morrow,” and she 
shuddered. 

“ No, no, Dottie,” he answered reassuringly, “they 
will not take you,” and after repeated assurances, 
which Horace gave in good’ faith, the child grew 
snore confident. 

“ Horace,” she said after an interval of silence, 
why does nothing nice last long ? We’ve had our 
doughnuts and our steak and gravy — but it did’nt 
last long. We had our happy days when mother 
laughed and the sunshine shone in her eyes, but it 
<did’nt last long. And we’ve had the days when 
we heard Nellie singing .” 

Dottie,” Horace interrupted, “ don’t talk of Nel- 
lie — nor of mother.” 

“Why ? ” she questioned with interest. 

“Because — because — I’ll tell you some other 
time,” and Horace raised his hand to his eye to dash 
aside the hot tears. 

“All right,” she said, “ but why did’nt you come 
to mother when she called ?” 

“ Did she call me? ” 

“Over and over she called ‘Horace, Horace,’ 
until everybody put their hands over their ears — 
some put their hands over their eyes.” 

“ I did not hear her.” 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE II5 

“I don’t see why. For hours and hours I heard 
her calling — calling — calling.” 

“I wish I were dead!” he suddenly exclaimed 
with pain. 

“ Horace — Horace, don’t wish it!” Dot begged, 
putting her two little hands under his chin pleadingly. 
*‘It might come true, then I would be left alone and 
I’d die. Be a doctor, Horace — a wise, good doctor, 
and take care of me as you always said you would. 
Will you? ” 

“I’ll try.” 

“You never used to say ‘try,’ ” she said thought- 
fully. “You always acted proud and said ‘I will.’ ” 

“ That was before ” 

“ Before what? ” 

“ Before I had learned what it means to live and 
hght and lose! ” was the bitter answer.” 

Dot did not understand his mood, but she settled 
nto his arms as if within their frail embrace no harm 
could reach her, but her mind was not wholly at rest, 
and even while she slept that night she reached re- 
peatedly for her brother’s hand, clinging to it with 
all her force. 

Early the next morning an officer from the Or- 
phans’ Home in Adkins appeared in Maple Crossing 
with a conveyance and announced to Horace that he 
had come for Dot. 

The terrified child clung to her brother, wild-eyed 
and trembling, praying him not to let her be taken. 
But it was in vain that Horace pleaded his ability to 
care for the child. He was a minor, without a posi- 
tion or a prospect, and although the child’s pleas 
moved the hearts of all who heard her, there was 
nothing, at least for the present but to let her be 
taken. 

When Horace became assured that she must go, 
he took her into the old home and holding her close 
against his heart whispered words of comfort and 
cheer. 


Il6 AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE 

“ Go with them/’ he said. “ They will be good to 
a little girl like you. You will have plenty to eat 
and other little girls to play with. I will send you 
a box with nice things in it — candy and perhaps a 
pretty doll, and soon I will come after you. Be 

watching for me, Dottie. I will come ” 

But I will be away from you and mother,” she 
moaned. “ Who will hear me say my prayers? Who 
will hold me when it’s dark? Who will love me? 
Oh, Horace, I’m afraid — I’m afraid!” 

Closer he drew her in his arms and dropping his 
face against her soft hair, for a moment he let the 
hot tears that were burning his eyes fall without 
check. 

Then he spoke bravely and cheerfully. 

‘ Be a brave girl, Dottie — for mother and for me. 
I will surely come and bring you home. Don’t for- 
get to watch! ” 

While Horace had been trying to calm Dot, 
Deacon Grey’s housekeeper had been collecting the 
child’s scanty wardrobe, and when it had been gath- 
ered she called Horace to bring his little sister. 

The child’s face was pale, her eyes were bright 
with tears, but she was trying with all her might to 
be brave, though her lips trembled and she clutched 
her brother’s hand frantically. 

As they passed out the door, the kitten rubbed 
against Dot’s feet, and a look of pleasure lighted 
her tear-stained face. 

“You may take it, Dottie,” Horace said, and she 
eagerly lifted the kitten and cuddled it in her arms; 
but when Horace went to lift her into the convey- 
anee, the driver who stood by said, “ Leave the cat.” 

“ Let her take it,” pleaded Horace. 

“ I’d like to,” the man answered kindly, “ but it's 
all the state can do to care for humans without their 
cats,” and Dot obediently opened her arms and let 
the little pet down upon the ground. 

A moment she clung tightly to her brother’s neck, 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 11 J 

then with a stifled sob she relaxed her hold and let 
him place her on the seat. 

“ Good-by, Horace,” she said bravely, though 
her lips trembled. “Good-by, Horace.” 

But scarcely had the driver touched his whip to 
the horse when the child’s fortitude forsook her, 
and turning back she reached her arms toward her 
brother, crying in childish agony, “Horace — Horace 
— good-by, Horace!” 



A MOMENT SHE CLUNG TIGHTLY TO HER BROTHER’S 
NECK 


ii8 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

“IN THE END THEREOF.” 

With the frantic cry. of little Dot still ringing in 
his ear Horace returned to the deserted house, and 
taking a chair to the pantry mounted it and began a 
rapid search on a top shelf. 

At last his fingers came in contact with some- 
thing that stopped the search, and drawing from 
underneath a pile of accumulated stuff an old pistol 
he went into the outer room to examine it. 

Evidently it was not in good condition, and sit- 
ting down he began eagerly to prepare it for use. 

While he sat thus engaged the door softly opened 
and the minister entered. 

“ It’s no earthly use for me to try again,” the boy 
said, by way of explanation of his employment. “ If 
I could find a place where there is no saloon I would^ 
but I tell you it’s no use for me to either fight or 
dodge with a saloon across the street from me. 
Don’t talk.” 

“If you mean what you say,” said the preacher,, 
“if you really mean that you would like to take 
another start where there is no saloon, why not stay 
here in Maple Crossing for a time? There is no 
saloon here and probably there never will be.” 

“There was never one in Trentwood until I went 
there, and then, as if Satan himself had been on my 
track, Crane set his place where I must pass it — see 
it — smell it — hear it every minute. And if I should 
stay in Maple Crossing no sooner would I get myself 
together and started on the upgrade than a saloon 
would open on the corner. If you do not want a 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


no 


saloon in Maple Crossing do not keep me here. I 
tell you the saloon is on my track with the scent of 
a hound and the certainty of death.” 

“You are right; the saloon is on your track, and 
the track of every other American boy; still I hardly 
think there will ever be a saloon in this peaceful 
place. Deacon Grey tells me he needs a young man 
in the store. He is your friend, and a sturdy one 
he will prove, if you will let him. Besides I need 
some young fellow to help me study, for I study yet 
and have many books. A number of my books are 
medical works given me by an uncle who hoped I 
would some day be a physician. These you may use.” 

“Don’t tempt me so!” Horace exclaimed, and 
with a quick movement he raised the pistol toward 
his head. 

The minister sprang forward, and snatching the 
weapon from the hand of the boy threw it through 
the open door with all his force. 

“It was not loaded,” Horace said with a forced 
laugh which ended in a shudder. “ I was only 
screwing my courage up to the sticking point.” 

“ It’s a thousand pities I was ever born,” he went 
on bitterly, “ a thousand pities that I was not shot 
instead of — Nellie. Nellie would have been a bless- 
ing to earth. Nellie -.” 

The minister waited for him to finish his sentence, 
then he said: “Nellie would have you be a man. 
You are going home with me to-night. Your nerves 
have been taxed past the limit of endurance. You 
need rest. When you have rested we will talk the 
matter over. You shall yet be the blessing to the 
world that God intends you to be, and I shall be 
happy to be your right hand man in the fight you 
are to make for honor’s sake — and the sake of those 
you love.” 

A moment Horace sat looking out the open door: 
Then with a low cry, like that of a wounded animafi 
crushed and all but dead, he threw himself on the 


120 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


floor at the young minister’s knees, and caught his 
hand in a feverish grasp. 

“Help me! Help me, and I will try again!” he 
cried. “ I will do anything — anything — if you will 
only help me to be strong once more! For God’s 
sake help me — I only need a little help!” 

Horace was trembling violently. 

William Bruce rested his hand on the boy’s 
shoulder and said in a husky voice: “God is my 
witness; I will help you. You shall go home with 
me. My home shall be your home. My mother 
shall take your mother’s place, and my strength 
shall be freely spent for you till you grow strong. 
But you must promise not to go to Trentwood. 
You must stay in the store each day and study with 
me at night. Then when you are strong once more, 
the way will open for your mother, perhaps, and 
little Dot to come back home. Now let us ask 
God’s blessing on the fight we are to make.” 

They knelt side by side and then they passed 
from the house and down the street. Under the 
bowed trees Horace turned and stood for a moment 
looking from the gate of his deserted home to that 
of Deacon Grey. As he stood, a mist rose to his 
eyes, and through it he saw a sunny faced girl 
smiling after him, and as he looked into her happy 
face she raised her hand and waved it calling, as 
she had called that day only such a little while ago: 
“ Good by, Horace— be good while I’m away! ” 

So clearly sounded the words that involuntarily 
he lifted his hand as if to beckon to the speaker, but 
dropped it suddenly. The place on the porch was 
vacant. 

All that night Horace tossed upon his bed and 
groaned, calling for his mother and Dot, and when 
morning came he still talked and tossed. A physi- 
cian was summoned and found a patient seriously ill 
with fever. 

The illness was protracted. The boy, whose 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


I2I 


rstrength had never been great, had completely ex- 
hausted his force of energy by years of hard study 
and overwork, and later by his misconduct, and for 
weeks he fay in a condition which made his recovery 
seem impossible. 

In his delirium he seemed to be a child walking 
in a boundless meadow with a companion. Some- 
times he would tighten his hot fingers around the 
minister’s hand saying: “How swift it runs. It is 
angry. It wants to carry us away! Come, Nellie.” 
He was standing in memory by the brook where 
they had played in childhood. Then they wandered 
in some grassy spot, and he was telling his compan- 
ion that the stars had dropped from the dark night 
sky into the meadow grass. Then they were listen- 
ing to the whispers of the mysterious creatures that 
called to them from some thicket. 

But always he held fast to the imaginary child’s 
hand, and tears often came to the minister’s eyes, 
for, though he did not understand it all, he knew 
that the boy was wandering in some happy dream 
land that had forever gone. 

But, after days of delirium, the fever burned 
itself out and the patient lived again in the real 
world. 

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 

But while Horace had been shut in the minister’s 
house a terrible agitation had been shaking Maple 
Crossing, for Jacob Crane had set his greedy eye on 
the little village, and had decided that a saloon 
could be made a paying business on the corner 
opposite Deacon Grey’s store. 

When this report first gained circulation it fell 
upon the pious ears of the citizens of Maple Crossing 
without causing a ripple of anxiety, so secure did 
they feel; but after Deacon Grey had investigated 
the matter and found the report all too true the in- 
dignation ran high, for the flowers had hardly faded 
•on Nellie’s grave, and the words the minister had 


122 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


spoken over her coffin still sounded in many ears. 

A meeting was called in the old church, and 
Deacon Grey made the most impassioned speech of 
his life. He had many times declared .in prayer 
meeting that sooner than see a saloon in Maple 
Crossing he would tear it down with his own hands,, 
and the people who listened to him now were not 
disappointed in expecting violent opposition. 

Not only did he speak, but he circulated the peti- 
tion of remonstrance provided for by law. Inside 
the'limits of Maple Crossing it received many signa- 
tures, but in the county outside the farmers who had 
had no daughters shot in Adkins held to the opinion 
that a saloon in Maple Crossing would make busi- 
ness better, and so it happened that after the agita- 
tion and indignation there came a night when a 
company from Trentwood, including a negro band, 
came into the quiet village and formally opened a 
saloon. 

Deacon Grey felt that he had been personally 
outraged, but though his fingures itched to tear the 
new saloon down, though his hands trembled with a 
desire to smash windows and screens, he did not 
dare to lift his arm, for behind the bar there hung a 
paper which was the certificate of the sovereign 
state’s protection. 

While all this had been going on, Horace had 
been mending slowly. The light had come back in- 
to his clear, dark eyes, showing that the fire of 
determination had been rekindled, and the old 
expression of deep set resolution marked his face. 
Hope was reviving, and again he was building plans 
for the future. Not such plans as he had once made 
— for the voice of his wise and gentle counsellor had 
been forever hushed, and the plans he must make 
were sadly incomplete without Nellie in his vision 
of the future. Neither could he speak his plans to 
his mother and watch her sad face light up with 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 12$. 

fresh hope and new joy. Outraged, defrauded^ 
robbed of her reason, in a distant place she was cry- 
ing constantly, in a voice that was never weary and 
with pain that never ceasedr “ Horace! Horace! ’’ 

Neither could he whisper his plans to Dot and 
make her happy by telling her of the joy that lay in 
store for her. Dot, too, had been robbed of her 
childish heritage, and in a strange place cried herselL 
to sleep whispering her mother’s name and in the 
darkness reaching her hands to her brother. 

Still, Horace made his plans, plans for the noble 
manhood that he intended yet should be, for Nellie’s 
and for honor’s sake, and the minister helped him. 
But since Jacob Crane had set his licensed trap in 
Maple Crossing a sickening fear made the heart of 
William Bruce heavy. 

The way from the minister’s house to Deacon 
Grey’s store led across a back street and into the 
rear entrance, and through this back door Horace 
entered the store on the morning when he was at 
last allowed to go to work. 

Passing slowly the length of the store, he stopped 
in the front door, intending to look down the road 
to his old home — and Nellie’s; but his gaze reached 
no farther than the opposite corner, for there, blaz- 
ing in the morning sun hung a new sign on which 
the single word “Saloon” shone in bold letters. 

Like one stunned he stood for a moment. Then 
he drew a long breath and as he did so the old scent 
struck his nostrils. Turning quickly he hurried to 
Mr. Grey’s desk with a pale face and haunted eyes. 

“Am I dreaming?” he exclaimed. “Am I 
dreaming? For God’s sake tell — tell me — do I see: 
my enemy across the street? ” 

The old man threw his arms around the boy. 

“You see your enemy,” he answered fiercely, 
“ but before God it shall not harm you. It has- 
robbed me of my daughter, and for her sake, because 


124 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. 


she loved you, it shall not harm you. I will fight it 
with my last dollar — with my last breath!"' 

Again Horace shuddered as the breeze wafted 
the faint scent of liquor across the way, even into 
the store, but after a moment he turned away to busy 
himself about the store. 

Again and again during the morning his employer 
saw him at the door or window looking, with the air 
of one who faces a mortal enemy, across the street 
at the gilded sign, the swinging green doors and the 
half drawn curtains. Later in the day Horace was 
missing, and so suddenly and silently had he gone 
that neither Mr. Grey nor the others employed in 
the store knew whither. Just as his absence was 
noted the minister came in, setting aside at once the 
first supposition that the boy had gone back to his 
friend’s home. A rapid search around the store 
failed to find him, and a quick visit to the saloon 
was equally fruitless, and together the two men hur- 
ried down the shaded road toward the old Russel 
home. With eyes keenly searching the street they 
passed on until, coming opposite the dilapidated 
house, they saw the son of the ruined home sitting 
upon the steps of the weatherbeaten porch. His 
hat lay on the ground and Dot’s kitten brushed 
-against his ankle, purring softly. His eyes, wide 
open, looked out into an open space between the 
trees, but the light of a descending sun lent them 
their only brightness. 

Bending over him Deacon Grey spoke his name, 
■and, receiving no reply, took up a paper which lay 
on the ground. He read: 

“It is as I told you. The saloon is on my track 
and the power behind my enemy is the state. Hope 
■dies hard, but it is dead. It is no use for me to try. 
With the fumes of it always in my nostrils the. fight 
would not last a week. I am going to the one place 
where it cannot follow me. I have been weak and 
worthless — but I have tried with all my dying force 


AT THE MERCY OF THE STATE. I25 

to be noble — to be a conqueror. The fight has 
wearied me Let me sleep my long sleep beside 
Nellie. Maybe God — 

The words which had rapidly grown wavering 
ended there in a long^ uneven downward stroke. A 
pencil lay near the boy’s foot on the ground, and 
beside it an empty bottle. 

For a moment the two men stood stricken with 
surprise and horror. ‘‘‘‘ My God! O my God! ” cried 
Deacon Grey, tears running down his cheeks, while 
the minister knelt beside the step and pressed his 
fingers against the boy’s white wrist, calling his name 
pleadingly. 

But Horace Russel’s brief play on the stage of 
mortal life had been finished. He had lived, he had 
loved, he had suffered, he had fought, he had been 
conquered, he had died — at the mercy of the state. 
^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 

A wonderful and a horrible thing is committed 
in the land . . . and my people love to have it 

so; and what will ye do in the end thereof? 


(The End.) 


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